Two wrong numbers make a right

I got a new mobile phone. This can only mean one thing: Recycled phone numbers.

Basically, I found out firsthand how wrong a wrong number can get, to have it resolved by a second wrong number call.

The first was an SMS written by a woman who had been dumped by her boyfriend via SMS. When the phone suddenly rang, playing the new Master of Puppets ringtone I had put on it via USB, little did I know that the shock of what I was about to encounter was far greater than the shock of Metallica suddenly blasting from one's pocket at full volume.

After I read this masterpiece of foul-mouthery, this tour de force of threats of bodily harm, I immediately deleted it from my phone. Somehow I regret doing this, but with a curious mother wondering who called me I had to act fast. To put it simply, it was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life.

Then today, some chap called me looking for a bloke called "Luke". I asked him if he or somebody he was calling on behalf of was responsible for the colourful and eyebrow raising text message I recieved yesterday, after I heard the screaming obscenities of a woman in the background.

In this man's despair, he bluntly put it: "Oh... SHIT!".

Before he hung up, I heard the woman scream "FUCKING KID!".

I know this, I probably wouldn't have liked the events that would have happened if I pointed out the text message went to an 18 year old schoolboy. Oh well, the Universe sorts things out in ways you can't imagine.

- Jacob Martin
AKA Jake of All Trades