You know how it goes. If your phone rings and you don't recognize the number...who in their right mind picks up? Not this ol' Val, that's for sure.
Last Friday afternoon, a call came in from ZDXFGEIEIO. Not knowing anyone by that name, I chose not to answer. I was sitting at New Delly in my dark basement lair, and saw on the screen of my ancient Panasonic land line receiver that the number had a local area code. I may be tempted, you know, to answer if it's different. Just because I don't know the area codes in Oklahoma, and it might involve The Pony. But if a local caller can't display their identity, then I probably don't want to talk to them.
The phone picked up, and I heard a lady's voice leave a message. She did not sound like a recording, but rather like she was reading from a script. "This call is for Dude Duderson, regarding the case against you in Gotcha County. This is your notification that we are proceeding with your case unless you contact us with information concerning Case Number 123456. Consider yourself notified."
Well. I do not know Dude Duderson. I have heard of some Dudersons, having associations with someone Hick used to know. But we have no dealings with any Dudersons. So I figured, "Too bad, so sad. Dude Duderson gave a fake number, and now he's about to reap what he's sown." No skin off my nose. I am not Dude Duderson's answering service. Nor am I paid by Gotcha County to track down their fugitives.
I thought nothing else of it. Went on with my daily chore of sipping a 44 oz Diet Coke, writing two blog posts, reading conspiracy websites, watching slot machine videos, and wondering if Hick was having a good flight home from Sweden.
On Monday morning, as I was getting ready to go mail a package of tax forms to Genius, and pick up my 44 oz Diet Coke for the day's chores...the phone rang again. From ZDXFGEIEIO. Same lady. Only this time she informed Dude Duderson that they were on the way, unless he called back with pertinent information in reference to Case Number 123456. She said he would be notified one more time, and that they would arrive within four hours.
Huh. Sucks to be Dude Duderson, I guess. If only he hadn't falsified his contact number, he might have made an escape. Hick came in to spring his surprise plan of taking me to cash in my lottery ticket, and I told him about Dude Duderson apparently giving our number as his contact.
"Huh. I don't know Dude. [REDACTED] used to be married to a Duderson. That doesn't surprise me."
"Do you think I should have picked up? To say Dude doesn't live here, and we don't even know who Dude is?"
"Nah. He shouldn't have give our number. He'll get what he deserves."
"Yeah. That's what I thought."
On the way home from our ticket-cashing/casino/Goodwill Tour day, a sudden thought shot through my brain.
"What if Dude Duderson gave our ADDRESS, too?"
"Well, then...I guess they showed up to get him and he wasn't home."
"Heh, heh! Wouldn't you crap if we get home and there's a sticky note on the front door telling Dude they stopped by and missed him while he was out?"
"Yeah. I wouldn't be happy if I had to prove I'm not Dude Duderson."
Pretty sure Dude won't want Hick and Val as peers on his jury.