We’ve all been there. You pick up the phone, and a chipper voice on the other end chirps, “Hello, is Brenda there?” You politely inform them they’ve got the wrong number, maybe even throw in a helpful, “You must have the wrong number,” and go about your day. But what happens when that one wrong number turns into a daily symphony of mistaken identity?

The Day My Phone Became a Brenda Hotline

It all started innocently enough. I was elbows deep in a sourdough recipe (yes, I’m that person) when the phone rang. A man with a thick Southern drawl asked for Brenda. “Wrong number,” I said, already mentally back to feeding my sourdough starter. No biggie, right?

Oh, how naive I was. Over the next few days, the calls for Brenda increased exponentially. It was like someone had accidentally listed my number as Brenda’s personal hotline in the “Wrong Number of the Year” awards.

The Case of the Persistent Pizza Delivery Guy

One particularly memorable incident involved a very confused pizza delivery guy. He stood at my door, a large pepperoni pizza box in hand, looking utterly perplexed. “Brenda ordered a pizza?” he asked, squinting at my house number like it personally offended him.

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