So Jared called me today. He asked if this was Anh. I said, “yes.” Somehow out of the name “Anh” I heard “Holly.” Don’t ask me. My ears are going bad, my eyes are going bad – it’s all downhill after 25.
He said, “hey, it’s Jared.”
At this point, Jared sighed rather loudly as if exasperated w/my incessant pestering. Um, excuse me buddy, you called me.
“Jared Combs from ROTC,” he said the exact same way Kip talks on Napolean Dynamite. I was silent. Nothing from me. This made him even more exasperated. “Is this Anh?” He asked again. “No,” I answered this time.
Silence from both of us.
“I think you have the wrong number,” I suggested more than stating.
Another sigh. “OK, thanks.”
“Sorry,” I apologized, suddenly feeling bad that he had to hear it this way. I felt a quick twinge of guilt for giving Donny who I met in 2004 a wrong number myself.
The line clicked before I was able to offer my condolences.
“Why did you apologize for a wrong number?” Steve asked me. “I felt bad for him,” I answered. But I got over it to blog about it. Only I would dedicate an entire blog post to a wrong number.