My phone: ring. ring. ring.
Me: Hello?
Agitated Polish Woman: Khello?
Me: Hello.
APW: Why you have called me.
Me: I'm sorry?
APW: You have called me. Why? For what?
Me: Um. Actually, you . . . .
APW: You should stop call me. Stop.
Me: I think you might have the wrong number. . . .
APW: No, YOU have wrong number. You are one with wrong number. Throw it out. Never call me.
Me: Okay then.
The thing is, caller ID has registered her phone number on my phone. It's all I can do not to call her and order a pizza or ask for Lubosh or inform her that she is to desist from her blackmarket hairdressing.
This is the sort of thing that leads inevitably to an appearance on a very special Oprah.
Have I ever told you about Garda? She had me on speed dial and thought I was her granddaughter. She'd tell me all about how her day was, how grandpa was doing. All harmless...until I was the person she called when grandpa got sick and she needed someone to get him to the hospital. I talked her into 911. And then, one day, she stopped calling. I was left not knowing why (ok, yes, I have abandonment issues) and have feared the worst.
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