Wrong Number
I’ve been living in my current apartment for the better part of two years. No one has my home phone number. Hell, I don’t even know what my home phone number is. The only reason we have one is for :
- Emergencies. 911 can pinpoint your exact location with landlines, not cell phones.
- We order a lot of stuff from Amazon.com and need to buzz in the delivery people.
- We order a lot of pizza and other delicious delivery foods. We need a way to buzz them in.
Having said that, I noticed we have a strangely high number of people calling this number looking for someone who is obviously no longer living here. At first, they were all Korean. Then, they were all Spanish.
Today, however, has got to the funniest wrong number call.
The phone rang and I thought it might be a delivery person. Instead, I hear a baby and/or small child screaming in the background and a woman’s voice hollering “I DON’T WANT TO HEAR NONE OF THAT SHIT!!”
As I’m hanging up, I then hear what sounds like spanking noises. That wasn’t the funny part. That part made my butt hurt because it sounded like it hurt. I felt bad for whoever was on the receiving end.
Not more than 30 seconds pass before the phone rings again. I pick up the phone and hear the same woman drawl “Is Tooooonnnnnyyyyy thurr?”
“No. You have the wrong number.”
“Uh. Uh. Uh….I mean, is Jeeeeerrrrryyyyy thurr?”
“No. You still have the wrong number.”
As I’m hanging up, I hear some garbled phrases of “Motherf***ker wrong number” and something about a bitch ass ho but I was happy as can be. Why? Because when I call someone, I know who it is I’m calling.
The end.
Screenshots Of Miss Bonnified's Mind 