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Several years ago I had a landline telephone number that was nearly identical to that of the Dodge dealership across the street. I think they were the same except for the last number.
By the way kids, people used to have telephones that were connected to a jack in the wall. You can Google it if you want, but I’m going to include a chapter on this topic in the book I’m writing: Electronics for Dummies – How to get your TV to work without plugging in that cable thingy (and more do-it-yourself tips).
Anyway, I was constantly receiving wrong number calls. One Saturday I received a call and decided enough was enough.
“Is this the Dodge dealership?” asked the man when I answered the phone.
“Yeah, how can I help you?” I replied.
“Can you transfer me to the service department?”
“No problem.”
I took a few sips from my pork chop in a can, altered my voice, and said, “Service department, can I help you?”
“This is Bart Bishop, and I’m calling to see if my car is ready.”
“Hold on,” I told him.
I held the phone in the air, scratched my nuts, and after 30 seconds or so, replied, “Nope.”
“But you told me it would be ready today,” he explained.
“And now I’m telling you it’s not.”
“This is total bullsh*t! We’re supposed to leave on vacation tomorrow. Let me talk to the manager.”
“You’re talking to him, big guy. And I don’t give a rat’s ass about your vacation because we’re ass-deep in alligators here. But we do have a rental car desk in the lobby if you’re interested.”
“I’m coming up there right now and you better have the keys to my car.”
“No problem, meat smack. Make sure you ask for the service manager.”
I thought about walking over there to see what happened. But I was watching college football, and rooting for a back door cover on a 3-team parlay.
I’m beginning to think, Baby you don’t know.