My husband doesn’t check his cell phone voice mail. He just doesn’t. If you call his phone and he doesn’t answer, just call mine, a message will be pointless. I have a story to illustrate this point.
Yesterday evening around supper time, Jonathan came to me and asked “How do I check my messages?” which should tell you right there how often he does it. The only reason he was checking them was because he saw that someone from Covenant Seminary had called, and he thought that might be important. He dialed his voice mail and walked away and I continued with supper preparations. Moments later he came back into the kitchen, handing me the phone with a quizzical look on his face.
“Listen to this message, and tell me who this is,” he said.
The caller clearly identified himself by name – my oldest nephew’s name – and referred to my husband as Uncle Jonathan, as would be appropriate. I wondered where the confusion came in, until I heard the rest of the message:
“Guess what? My mom is pregnant. She knows for sure because she took two pregnancy tests. Pretty cool, huh?”
The message was dated May 11th.
I was pretty sure that my sister would have mentioned something of this magnitude to me in the three conversations I had with her since May 11th. After conferring, we decided that someone had put my nephew up to playing a prank on his Uncle Jonathan. It was the only conclusion we could reach.
To confirm our theory Jonathan called my sister. She was speechless. So was her son. My nephew, identified so clearly by name on the message, had never left a message for his Uncle Jonathan. Now we were getting a little freaked out, so I checked his call log. On May 11th he had two missed calls from a local number – clearly the source of the message – but it also showed a completed call to the same number.
“You called this number back.” I said.
That was when the realization crossed his face. He remembered his phone ringing the last week of school, and when he called them back, the woman who answered apologized profusely.
“My son was trying to call his Uncle Jonathan,” she said, “and he got your number by mistake.” What she didn’t tell him, because she couldn’t have known, was that her son had the same name as our oldest nephew, and a similar voice, and was clearly close in age. The message was a wrong number, with so many of the right facts that two weeks later when Jonathan decided to check his messages, we were completely dumbfounded by it.
What are the odds?