From Beyond.
I just had the weirdest thing happen. Coincidence happen? I don’t know.
My phone is my dad’s old number. Mom and Dad had it for thirty six years, so a lot of people have this number. Almost everyone knows Dad has a new number, but occasionally (not as often as it might, my dad is really good at keeping off of lists) I get phone calls from telemarketers and randoms from the past.
So my phone rang, and I answered. The guy asked to speak to my mother. I knew he was selling something because he used her full name. No one used my mom’s full name, except people who didn’t know her.
“No. She’s been dead for six years now.” I could have been less blunt, but I had an intense flash of annoyance at him. Thinking about it, it was part “Who the hell wants to bother her now when not even I can talk to her?” and part “You ass. Don’t you know she’s dead? Idiot.”
He apologized and said he’d take her off the list. Um. Thanks. Good idea.
And then not five minutes later, another phone call: This time asking for my father.
“I’m sorry, he’s not at this number any more.”
“Do you know how I could reach him?” she asked.
“Could I ask what this is about?” (Note defensive daughter mode. Don’t bug my dad!)
“Oh, I used to go visit his mother, Bernice, at her care home. I wanted to see how she was doing and thought I should ask Peter.” Aha.
“I’m sorry, she’s deceased.” Gentler this time. She sounded like a nice woman.
I explained that I was my father’s daughter, and we spoke for a few minutes about my grandmother and what a wonderful woman she had been. She sounded genuinely sorry to hear about Grandma. I hung up feeling that the world was an okay place.
So two phone calls for people no longer even on this earth within five minutes. I’m pretty sure it means something, but I sure don’t know what.
By Beth, February 7, 2009 @ 7:29 pm
Things like this come in threes, I believe.
By Mr. Arwen's Husband, February 7, 2009 @ 9:33 pm
I always liked Claire’s story about being a (sorta) telemarketer for the Vancouver Opera House, and when she called a house and asked the woman who answer if she could speak to Mr. Personname, and the woman burst into tears and howled “He’s out with his WHOOOOOOORE!” into the phone.
I’ve thought of using that once or twice. Well, not ME using it, but close.
I like saying “Identify 216” into the phone if things are quiet enough in the background, and then saying it exactly the same way if they repeat themselves. ‘tis fun.
By Liz, February 8, 2009 @ 1:14 am
Beth, that concerns me a bit. I don’t have any other close-to-me dead people. But if someone calls asking for my old dog Sam, I will know that he was just as smart as I always thought he was. I always thought he could speak ‘people’ if he wanted to.
Mr. AH, I’d have done the “Out with his WHOOOOORE!” thing with the salesman if I’d thought of it. I love that story! I’ll definitely try the “Identify 216” if I remember.
By elswhere, February 8, 2009 @ 9:11 am
Recommendation: try reading this post right after finishing “The Graveyard Book” for a really satisfying shiver!
By rachel, February 8, 2009 @ 5:15 pm
One time Scott pretended the police were banging on the door to get rid of a telemarketer. But my favourite was always my sister, who once said to a long-distance carrier salesperson, “I’m sorry, we don’t have a phone!”
I smell a Big Papa Hafla murder mystery in the making, however. Big Papa Hafla and the Number of the Beyond!
By stephanie, February 8, 2009 @ 11:17 pm
Total weirdness. It does mean something. I’m sure of it.
By Liz, February 9, 2009 @ 12:05 am
After Beth’s first comment, I admit that I called my dad first thing this morning. He was fine.
Els, I will request The Graveyard Book.
Rachel, those are inspired! I used to chat happily to surveyors when I was on E’s landline before we lived together. I would tell them things like I supported 8 people in the house, and I was a seamstress at $15,000 a year.
Stephanie, weird, but I still don’t know what it means.