Know What? I Know Who Lives in my House.

There's a certain etiquette to a misdialed phone call, at least in Canada. The conversation usually goes something like this:

*ring, ring*
A: Hello?
B: Hi, is Yolanda there?
A: Nope, sorry, you must have the wrong number.
B: Oops! Sorry!
*click*

Not so much here. Here it goes like this:
*ring, ring*
A: Hello?
B: Hi, is Yolanda there?
A: Sorry, you have the wrong number.
B: What? Where's Yolanda?
A: Um, there's nobody here named Yolanda. You must have dialed the wrong number by mistake.
B: Well, I need to talk to Yolanda!
A: Seriously, this is not her number!
B: But I dialed her number!! She's got to be there!
A: Maybe you hit a wrong key by mistake!
B: Look, just let me talk to Yolanda, would you?!
A: *click*
A: (ignores vehement ringing of phone for next 10 minutes)
(except, obviously, in Spanish)

Now, this has happened occasionally to me in Canada, like the time some bimbette kept calling my cell phone every 8 seconds to see if the number had magically become Mike's. Even when we went over the numbers, and agreed that while she indeed had my exact number written down, it was in fact my number and not his. But here it is every darned time. People range from totally baffled to outraged at my inability to produce the individual they seek.

And then there's the odd time I dial a wrong number. Most often, I know right away that it's not right and I just say, "oops, think I got the wrong number," and hang up. But the other day I was trying to call someone, and I knew it was one of two numbers. I kept trying both, but there was nobody home at either. Finally, a voice answered at one of the numbers, and the conversation went like this:

A: Hello?
Me: Hi, may I please speak to Roxana?
A: Roxana?
Me: Oh, do I have the wrong number?
A: Which Roxana do you want to speak to?
Me: Is there one there?
A: No . . .
Me: Then I have the wrong number.
A: Wait, what number did you dial?
Me: The wrong one?
A: Well, this is xxx-xxxx.
Me: Yep, that's not the right one. (I didn't know this till I got A on the phone, of course)
A: Well then, why did you call me?
Me: ??????? *click*

Seriously.

And then there was this conversation, when I called Elly's cell phone a couple weeks ago:
Man: Hello?
Me (taken aback): Um, is Elly there?
Man: No, I don't know who that is.
Me: Oh, sorry, I must have a wrong number, but I really thought this was her number. (as in, it's programmed into my cell phone)
Man: Well, I guess it could be.
Me: (realization dawning) Did she leave her phone somewhere?
Man: Yeah, in the back seat of my cab. Do you know where she lives? I could take it to her.
Me: She works for me. You can drop it off at my house.

He did, and accepted a 10 sol tip for good deed, but it was pretty clear that he was trying to pretend he didn't know nuffin 'bout no missing phone. Or was he? He was cool with bringing it up to my place, so maybe he was just that clueless over the phone . . .