nekomatta

Thursday, July 06, 2006

I'm beginning to suspect that the previous owner of my cellphone number was either some modern Messiah with godly charm or was pretty much the common cellphone whore. I have people calling me at queer hours from seemingly every corner of the world looking for random people (boyfriend, relative, spouse, child, pastor, stalkee, etc.) in a myriad of languages.

For example:

This incident happened a few months back when I had just signed up for my number.

Silly me, there I was worried about how no one had my cellphone number and I had to embark on a crusade to call each and every person I knew to make my brand spanking new number known.

A girl called while I was happily chewing away at my mango kerabu in a dimly lit SS2 Thai resturant and asked for some guy. Actually, I've received a few missed calls from her number before but I've never called back. I figured, if it's a number I don't recognize and it's a royal deal of an importance, I'd have about ten missed calls before they decide to text in glaring capitals. I digress, back to my call; I know, pretty generic yes? But my life isn't all that promiscuous. I couldn't have been so lucky as to be on the receiving but mistaken end of a secret apocalyptic plan of world domination. Instead, I had to deal with some guy's jilted ex, some chick he's been trying fervently to dodge (and apparently still is) and/or stalker. I tell her politely, "I'm sorry, I think you've got the wrong number."

We hang up, I go back to my food.

Just as I'm about to plunge my fork into the yellow mass of deliciously sour shredded mango strips, my cellphone rings again.

And it's the same person.

I sigh and hang up.

Five seconds later, an electric blue light blinks from my cellphone and huzzah, it's the same number! Persistent little chit, isn't she? I answer it this time.

Again, she asks for the same person.

Slightly irritated, I tell her she's got the wrong number -again- and that I have no acquaintances nor do I have any blood ties to this Ah Kau, Abu, Ah Ling or Ali Baba kid she seems to desperately want to track down. Look, if the man didn't call you when he changed his number, he obviously has his reasons.

Not discouraged at all, the girl pressed on launching into a dizzy wave of twenty STUPID questions asking things I'm obviously not going to disclose to some looney over the phone like where I currently stay, which hole in Malaysia I'm currently answering the phone from, how long I've had the number and where or whom did I get it from.

I bluntly told her I am in Malaysia and I'm having my dinner... to which she paused (and NOT having taken the hint), giggled and asked again where in Malaysia.

Do I look like I'm going to give you my fucking location coordinates?

I replied in my sweetest and patience-strained voice that I really don't know the person she's looking for and it would be nice if she stopped calling. In actual fact, I had wanted to say "Look bitch, I don't know him and I don't know you. Obviously, he doesn't want to know you either because he has taken lengths to make sure you don't get your grubby paws on his new number. So move along, stop fucking calling and let me eat in peace, please."

She hung up, not entirely convinced I wasn't in on some conspiracy to keep him away from her. However, she has never called since that day.

Good riddance.

And peace is restored.

That is, until the next asshole decides to call and talk to me repeatedly in a foreign dialect even though I've answered in English with a casual "Wrong number, sorry."

Don't read too much into it; it reads and sounds what it means: hang the fuck up.

Labels: rant