Internet Zillionaire

I snapped last night. It was almost 10 pm, and this was the third telephone call interrupting the Gonzaga game.

Me: “Look, I’m sorry. You’ve got the wrong number. I’m not your grandson. You need to stop calling this number. It’s late.”

Old lady (kind, but obviously senile): “Well, do you have his number? How do I get the right number?”

Me (resisting the urge to suggest she use the Internet): “I don’t know your grandson’s phone number. Call directory assistance. Just don’t call this number any more. Ok? Good luck.”

And I hung up at that point. This was probably about the seventh time in four days this lady has called me, introducing herself as “Grandma” and not believing me when I tell her that I’m not her grandson. We’ve gone through this exchange seven times. I was polite and courteous the first six calls, but last night was the breaking point.

Hopefully she’s moved onto the next name in the phone book. Still, I feel bad. Maybe I should try and help reunite her with her grandson, using my considerable resources of Internet access and functioning mental faculties. It would certainly look sharp on my good-deed resume. I might actually consider this when she calls back.