Him name is Cellie Grey Phone.
I lost my cell phone two weeks ago. At first, I thought it would eventually turn up — as it usually does. However, I am stumped as to where it might be. Not in my purses, not in my jackets, not in the bedroom, not in the office, not in the laundry room, not at work, etc, etc… We’re only a year into our contract so I either have to get a new phone, or buy one used. Grrr.
Since I first realized it was missing, I’ve gotten a number of bizarre messages on my voicemail. First, an old woman left a message consisting only of her reciting her phone number and then fumbling around to hang up. Next were a string of breathers: heavy rhythmic breathing for at least a minute. Finally, the last message was most disturbing. I think it was the same old woman because I recognized the same shaky graveled voice. The message was as follows, “Jim, this is your mother. I am calling to let you know that your uncle Dick died yesterday. You better call me…” followed by the long and drawn out attempt to hang up the phone.
She obviously must not hear very well, because my name is clearly recited before entering voicemail, and Vanessa sounds nothing like Jim. I should probably call her and let her know she has the wrong number.
