I have, in all these years as a bona fide grown-up, always seemed to get second-hand phone numbers. When I first got my own place in Reading, British Telecom kindly granted me a number that was previously used by a driving school.
"Hello, is that the L-of-a-Scary-Ride driving school?"
"I'm afraid they've got a new business number. It's 0800 696969"
Became:
"No, piss off."
Became:
"Yes. Yes it is. What time would you like us to pick you up?"
After several months of this madness, we complained to BT and got a new number. It was, fuck my luck, just one digit removed from Pizza Hut, a digit fat-fingered spackers found with unnerving precision on a Friday night.
"Awight mate - issh that Pizza Hut?"
"Sorry mate, their number's 407820. You dialled it wrong."
Became:
"No. Piss off."
Became:
"Yes. Yes it is. Can I take your order please?"
Of course, it couldn't last. We moved house and got a new number.
"Hello, is that Abbey Removals?"
*sigh*
OK, said British Telecom, our bad. Have a new number.
"Is that the RSPB?"
"Why yes. Yes it is. And today's special is buy a duck, get a free grebe. And an egg. We like egg."
"You're not the RSPB at all, are you?"
"No. Sorry. Do you still want egg?"
"You're strange."
*click*
So sweet, the sound of silence.
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