Your cellphone rings; you don’t know the number.
“Hello!”
“I want to speak to Almaz.” No greetings, not anything. It isn’t even a polite request. It sounds more like, “Hand the phone to Almaz, or you don’t know what will be coming your way.” He is not asking you to fetch Almaz. He’s giving you orders.
“Sorry, but you have the wrong number.”
Here is where the real story begins to unfold. For all, you know Almaz could be the fellow’s wife, and it might be the case of a finger messing with the wrong cellphone key. In that case a genuine, “Sorry;” should have been the logical response from the other end. But one word the voice you heard isn’t tuned for is, ‘sorry.’ He’s one, angry guy! He probably takes it as a blow to his pride.
Of course, wrong numbers are among those crafty tricks the ladies play. If they don’t want to have anything to do with you they give you the wrong number, many times a random one, too. Those with double-edged intrigue meant to cut both sides could give a specific number aiming to annihilate two birds with a single stone.
“What do you mean the wrong number?” Well, the wrong number! What else could it mean? You try to play the role of the wingless angel but the guy on the other end has horns so big the fiercest bull of Pamplona could envy you!
“Sir, there isn’t anyone by that name. This is my private number and no one else, except me uses it.” Had he been more cordial you might have sympathized with him, “Who does this Almaz think she is, Queen of Sheba?” But this one is the sort of guy deserving anything, but sympathy.
Let alone convince a fellow who thinks he has been thrown under the bus by this lady, that explanation of yours could have won you a court case.
“Is the jury’s decision unanimous?”
“Yes, your honor.”
You could be anyone from Mohamed Ali to Charlie Chaplin; the one thing you are not is, Almaz.
Who knows, scenario two could be that the fellow probably waited a couple of years to hear the priest’s melody of, “Do you accept this woman as your wife?” and what happens? Almaz sells him down the river. What could turn a man into a beast if this doesn’t? The story of the year would have been if he hadn’t been fuming. His Helen of Troy having left him out in the rain you don’t expect his saintly genes to take control of his senses.
Your problems practically tearing you from limb to limb this complete stranger tries to walk all over you for something you know nothing about! To make it worse, the guy wasn’t one to take ‘no’ for an answer. He plays hardball;
“I know she’s there. Give her the phone or else….”
Or else what! Some people could send your brain downhill with a busload of unanswered questions. I mean, threatening someone you neither know, nor have ever heard of over the phone is not only about a character flaw, but also guts of the strangest kind. It might be a face-off between an elephant and a flea, the flea being you! Of course, despite the jabs and uppercuts, the guy sends our way, you do your best to keep your cool. No need getting into a shouting match with someone probably thinking about breaking a nose or two. You don’t want yours to be in that line of fire.
Look, in ‘wrong number’ situations people used to be friendlier. It was just a “Sorry” and a “Don’t mention it,” exchange. No “or else…” finger is pointed at you!
Say, this fellow, who thinks he is a modern-day Elvis who deserved to be stalked by half of the fair sex population who failed to put the lead on their romantic genes, runs into some pretty work of nature at one place or another. He throws a word or two and she smiles. Eureka! That is what you could call a marksman’s accuracy. He asks for her number and she gives it to him. He flies to the top of the world. “And the winner is….” The next day he calls;
“Hello!”
“Hello; could I speak to Lilly, please?” At least, this one seems to be nice.
“Sir, there is no one by this name.” And the guy goes ballistics! How could she do this to him! How can he stand the fact that his own favorite game of romantic hide-and-seek has been turned against him! The lady played her “Go to hell game,” without losing her smile. She could have said, “Give you my number! Who told you I’m that stupid?” No way; A little cat-and-mouse game would make her day.
She vanishes into thin air. He vanishes into the gin bottle. You couldn’t help but admire nature’s balancing act. Ha!
My cellphone is buzzing. I hope it isn’t another wrong number call!
The Ethiopian Herald Friday 17 January 2020
Ephrem Endale
Contributer
