Two years ago when this started, I found it amusing. At first, it was constant. Four or five times a week, one of your friends, suppliers, or concerned person from the box office of the Arlene Schnitzer would call asking for “Craig.”
Being the kind of person I am, I would always respond very politely, almost too friendly, explaining the situation, that I have no idea who you are, and that I’m sorry, I can’t convey the message. This was always met with surprise and confusion and most notably a lack of hanging up. Your friends would then go on to ask how I was. Your personal shopper would inquire if I, too, have a J Crew credit card or would like to sign up for one. One of your missed calls even asked if I was single, then assured me that you were really a great guy and I would “probably like you”.
One time I’m certain we had a near run-in. While leaving my phone number for a pair of pants I was having altered, I was informed by a tailor at Nordstrom that YOUR pants would be ready for pick up that day. Suddenly I was irrationally terrified at the idea of running into you in real life – like you would somehow recognize me, or be angry with all the chatting I’ve done over the past 2 years with almost all of your acquaintances. I ducked my head and quickly made for the door.
Over time, the calls dwindled to once a week, then about every other month or so. It seemed like your friends were starting to get the message and that the box office at the Blazers was finally aware that I was not, in fact, the season ticket holder.
Until this week, that is. This week, I’ve gotten 5 calls EACH DAY. At regular intervals. Like clockwork.
Two calls, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, are an automated service letting you know your prescription is ready for pick up. The other calls, one at an ungodly hour in the morning, are a prerecorded message that sounds pretty urgent about your Citi card.
The thing is, I’m not even mad. I’m worried about you.
At this point, “Craig,” I’d like to say that I’ve gotten to know you pretty well. Sure, I’ve been curious as to what you might be like, but really I prefer my fabrications from the missed calls to any reality you would offer. You’re clearly well off, very well liked by friends (if not somewhat negligent in alerting them to your most updated contact info), and seem to have your stuff together for the most part.
So…do me a favor? Check in and let me know you’re okay?
You know the number.