Mixed messages
Proof that my life lacks excitement; I get a kick out of phone and text messages that are misdelivered. Especially given that I don’t get many to begin with.
Case from this evening, when someone phoned to announce that he would stop by to pick up a key to the back door this weekend. Not likely; I don’t have a back door and I don’t know you from Adam. Turns out he was looking for one of his tenants, who gave my number as a secondary contact (yes, family…). Or the SMS, to remind us that chairs can’t be picked up on Wednesday or Sunday. Mine is not to wonder anything but why. Again, a logical explanation; it has to do with a furniture order for another family member. Whew! I’m too young to start forgetting everything.
My name gets reversed, a lot. And now the phone is ringing for other people’s concerns. A sign that it might be time to find a new address; far from the madding crowds.
At work, I pick up phone calls for the bus transport division, the school eligibility section, the buildings and maintenance crew. Happily, I’ve got the hang of transferring to another extension, with nary a missed move. Push, dial, hang up. Easy peasy. The mail sort also leaves odd reminders that we have a lot of places to spend money. If I catch the envelope on the first pass, I can divert it to another pigeon hole while pretending to do other important things.
