Wrong Number

Somebody stole my phone number.

Well, technically, numbers are free spirits and were in the public domain before Euclid, so no one actually stole it, but my phone number has none the less been liberated. My phone would feel violated, if it had feelings.

I was home when a Correctional Facility called me and asked for "April." My name is not April. I know no Aprils, except for the month. I politely told them they had the wrong number, and the lady at the other end hung up. This happened twice more, while I was home.

During vacation at the beach, I received another call asking for April. Oh, April, this nefarious April. Why do you follow me and torture me from afar? The lady at the other this time promised me, after I assured her that I knew no one named April and that I was not April, that she would remove my number from April's contact information at the Correctional Facility.

I was relieved. No more annoying calls from a jail-house. I could rest that no felon was passing off my number as her own so she could do her dirty work in peace and let me take the fall––or whatever it was that was happening. I just knew I was frustrated and hate phone calls and despise checking my voice mails.

Time passes as it does in the summer. My vacation ended though the waves continued their battery against the sands, and I went back to work. I thought all was fine, until just now––another call for April.

Can they not find this girl/woman/soul-sucker, so must bother me to death? Was the secretary who promised me peace so inept that she did not remove my number from the contact information? I requested again to be left alone, but I heard the phone click off before I finished my sentence. So much for Southern Hospitality?

So, April, if I ever meet you, since the System seems to be working so very well––what do you think will happen? First, of course, I need to ascertain that you are the April of Infamy. I shall look for prison tattoos, so if you are she and happen to stumble upon this blog, I suggest you do something about them now. Second, I can hope to go through the seasons first: Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter––500 Days of Summer style, but change it instead to months of Aprils and coincide with how many calls I've received. Fifty? Okay. How many Aprils have I met? Okay, you're the un-lucky one.

Now that I've finally found you, what do we do? We shall have a wonderful hang-out time. We will talk and be best buds. What else? I know you so well, by now, after all, your big bad secret that you were in a Correctional Facility and it seems on the run or something like that. And you know me so well that you even memorized my number! How '90s! Let's exchange numbers! And then I will call you non-stop, so that you will eat your own soul.* **

*Dear NSA, this is aaaall meant in the most passive, world-loving, well-intentioned way. Please don't incarcerate me.

**#Talk as in happy little words aimed at making friends for life, everything Geneva Convention friendly. #NSA #Icomeinpeacedudes #donteatme