A Pilgrim’s Digression

I love wrong numbers. I look upon every wrong number as an opportunity to meet someone new. My dream has always been to receive a wrong number and engage the caller in conversation without their knowing they have called the wrong number. Today, I hit the jackpot.

When my work telephone rang today, I saw from the caller ID that the number was not internal, and I did not recognize it.

I picked up the phone and said, “Hello?”

“Hey, Babe,” a woman said. “How you doin?”

“Oh hey,” I said. “I’m doin fine, how bout you?”

“Fine. You sound funny, Baby.”

I said, “I think I’m coming down with something. It might be this phone, too.”

She said, “Well, don’t you get sick. We’re going out with Donna and Mike tonight.” She added slyly, “And I might want you for something else later.”

“Oh, I’m always well enough for that!” I said.

“I don’t know,” she said. “You turn into a baby when you get sick.”

Brief pause, and then she says, “Well, I’m getting ready to go to lunch, and I thought you could meet me at the new Indian museum. I’ve been wanting to try their café.”

“I’ve been wanting to try that place, too,” I said.

“Oh? I thought you said you’d already eaten there?” She said.

“No, I don’t think…”

“Your voice sounds really different,” she said.

“I haven’t eaten at the museum,” I said. “Maybe I was referring to that Indian restaurant over on K Street. Maybe I meant Indian like the country.”

I had no idea if there even was an Indian restaurant on K street. And if there was, I was hoping she wouldn’t know about it. No such luck.

“K street? The Bombay Palace? You’ve eaten at the Bombay Palace? This is the first I’ve heard about it. You never expressed any interest in going to one of those restaurants before. You always told me you tried that kind of food once and hated it.”

“I was invited, I went there with someone.”

“Who? You didn’t tell me about it.”

Inexplicably, my little prank had gone awry, and I was starting to sweat a little. I thought I’d try to turn my slip-up into a joke.

“What are we, married or something?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” she said.

“I was joking,” I said.

“I’m not,” she said. “So who did you go with? And when did this little ‘date’ happen?”

At least she had forgotten I didn’t sound like her husband.

I said, “It was Mike. I don’t remember when.”

“Mike? You expect me to believe that? I don’t think he has ever eaten in an ethnic restaurant in his life.”

I said, “Why would I lie about something you could easily verify?”

She said, “I don’t know, maybe you already told him your cover story and asked him to lie for you.”

I said, “Stop, stop…this is going badly. How did we get to the point that we’re arguing?”

I was feeling as exasperated as if I were arguing with my own wife. I felt like I couldn’t just end the phone call, either. I had to try to repair the damage.

“Look,” I said, “I’m not your husband. You called the wrong number.”

“Oh come on,” she said. “You expect me to believe that?”

“You said my voice sounded funny,” I said.

“I know my husband,” she said. “Now look, you aren’t going to get out of this so easy.”

I was frankly pretty astonished, at this point. I wasn’t sure whether to press the point or not, and clearly if I just hung up, her poor unsuspecting husband was going to get an earful when she rang him up immediately afterwards.

I said, “Look, let’s just go back to before I said anything about having eaten at an Indian restaurant.”

“Why do you want me to forget about it? You got something you want to hide?” she said.

“No, no,” I said. “It’s just not something worth arguing about; it was perfectly innocent. You’ve got it all wrong.”

“Well, I’ll be meeting you in, what, fifteeen minutes at the museum café? You can explain how innocent it was then.”

I said, “Uhm, what if I can’t make it? I may work through lunch…”

“I wouldn’t suggest it,” she said, ominously.

“Well, I guess I’ll meet you in about fifteen,” I said, laughing weakly.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think that’s a good idea.”

“By the way,” I said. “You really did get the wrong number.”

“Jerk,” she said. “I’ll see you in a few minutes. Bye.”

Next time, I think I’ll just say “Sorry, wrong number,” right from the beginning.