THE PHONE CALL

 

It was the phone call to end everything.

‘Hello? Who is this?’

The voice from the other end of the phoneline was raspy. Definately a fake raspiness in an attempt to sound older. He croaked, ‘I know who you are.’

I’d heard of this nightly caller from the other staff. As a result, I had been looking forward to my night shifts. I cheerfully responded, ‘Great! I know who I am, too! Finally, I’ve met a kindred spirit!’

There was a brief pause before the laboured voice said, ‘I know what you did.’

‘Ooo! Get you!’ I think I covered up my panic well.

‘I know everything about you.’

I hit my stride again. ‘I’d be surprised if you’re continent.’

I heard his real voice. ‘You what? Content?’

‘Continent,’ I corrected the young whipper snapper patiently. ‘I’d be surprised if you were continent because I let out a little wee when I think about the things I’ve done. Mountain climbing in Yosemite. Paragliding in Derbyshire. Stuff like that. You know what I mean?

The young whipper snapper was clearly on the back foot because his riposte was, ‘Your mother’s a ho.’

I smiled to myself and said into the receiver, ‘My mother’s a gardening implement?’

I heard a click as the young whipper snapper put down the receiver. I replaced my receiver on the cradle and opened the shift log book. I wrote a brief message;

“I have outwitted the nuisance caller. We can all now look forward to many a tedious night shift.”

Damn.

 

Inspired by a real situation.  One of my colleagues made the nuisance caller hang up.

 

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About catherinehume

Catherine Hume: Writer, social care worker and a liver of a life less ordinary.
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