Last week I got a couple of voicemail messages from “Mario” to “Thomas”, of the “hey, how ya doin’” variety. This despite my voicemail greeting which clearly states my name,
which is very different, and cannot possibly be confused with “Thomas”. But, hey, no big deal, some people don’t pay attention, I supposed, so I unceremoniously sent them to /dev/null/ and went about my business.

Last Thursday I was walking through the campus when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the incoming number, but I answered it anyway. It was Mario. “HELLOOOO, THOMAS!” he bellowed jovially into my ear. “Haven’t talked to you in ages! Been trying to get ahold of you!” Similar sentiments streamed through the phone for a good thirty seconds before I could slip a word in edgewise. “I’m sorry”, I said, “but there’s no Thomas at this number.”

I tried getting him to confirm the number he’d attempted to dial, but his signal went bad, or mine did, and we spent a few moments yelling “Hello?” into our respective telephonic devices before I tired of the game and hung up on him. And that was that. Mario had surely gotten the message that Thomas wasn’t here.

But Mario, it seems, is determined to get ahold of Thomas, and isn’t letting a silly thing like a “wrong number” get in his way. Indeed, last night my patriotic revelry was interrupted by the transmission of a picture message from my tenacious new phone buddy.

I’m guessing hoping Thomas is his long-lost son or something, because I really don’t want to start seeing pictures of this guy’s dong showing up on my phone.