"Ever Have One of Those Days?" I stood there with the phone in my hand, completely dumbfounded. After a moment or two, I was finally able to remember why I was holding the phone. It was 5pm, I'd be at work till at least 7pm and I should call home to check if there were any messages on my answering machine. Ever the optimist, I'd hate to miss any random, last minute offers of a free meal. Hell, getting any call would be pleasant change of pace. I dialed my number and counted the rings. The rule was if there were new messages the machine answers after two rings. Add one for good luck and that meant I hang up before the 4th ring. The line rang three times and as I reached towards the phone to hang up, it picked up. I heard the familiar beginning of the outgoing message, but then the machine must have malfunctioned. It repeated the start of the message. After three times, I realized this was not a recording, but some person saying, "Hello?" "Wrong number..." I started saying, but the LCD readout on the phone in my office cubicle showed it was my number, "...but it's not." "What's the meaning of this!" the voice barked back. "I called. My house. My phone." I babbled incoherently, trying to make sense if it all. "If the cleaning woman let you in..." it dawned on me that he was in my house. Burglar or practical joke, I didn't care, it was an invasion of privacy and in an instant I was livid. "Fuck you!" I shouted into the phone and slammed it down. All of a sudden the two hours of unpaid overtime I had planned to work didn't seem all that important. I wanted to catch the bozo who was sitting in my house right now. I live close enough to work that I can be home in 10 minutes. And even though I was angry, I'm not a complete idiot. I took a baseball bat from my car with me, just in case it was a burglar. As I walked towards the front door, I reached for my keys and then thought that if he had broken in, I'd have to replace my locks, and if he had gotten in nonviolently, I'd still have to change them anyway. Actually, I was angry, wanted in fast, and wanted to take out my anger on something. It made perfect sense to me. I kicked the door open, stormed in, and shouted, "Freeze, asshole!" He wasn't anywhere in sight. Or earshot. I was listening for any footsteps, but heard none. I looked around downstairs. Nothing. I ran upstairs and checked the bedrooms, the closets, and the bathroom. I even did the classic movie move: I stepped out of the bathroom, paused, then two bounding steps took me to the shower and one violent sweep of the bat took down the shower curtain and its rod. And any intruders hiding behind it. Had there been any. There weren't. Didn't matter; shower curtain rods are cheaper than front doors anyway, and I needed some release. It finally started to sink in. He wasn't here. And from the look of the place, he had never been here. At least it wasn't a burglar. Or rather, a successful one. I walked down the steps, loosely holding the bat by its middle, no longer as angry, more puzzled. If it wasn't a burglar, but a joke, who could have done it? The voice was familiar in a way, but really not anyone I know. I was halfway down the steps when it happened: the phone rang. Mindlessly, I dropped the bat. It took two rings before I realized what it was. I raced down the steps and across the room so I could beat the answering machine to it. I know it would be him, taunting me. I didn't even think about the bat. "Hello?...Hello?" If I wasn't out of breath, I would have shouted into the phone. I took a breath and said once more, "Hello?!?" The voice on the other end of the phone, the same voice as before, quietly said, "Wrong number...but it's not." "What's the meaning of this?" I shouted back. Then it struck me. I was reading his lines. And the voice...mine. As "he" was going on about "My house. My Phone..." (did I really sound that stupid?), I looked up at the clock on the wall: 5pm. The "Fuck you!", followed by the slamming of the phone, went through me like a jolt. I was totally confused. I stood there with the phone in my hand, completely dumbfounded. After a moment or two, I was finally able to remember why I had the phone. It was 5pm, I'd be at work till at least 7pm and I should call home to check if there were any messages on my answering machine. Ever the optimist, I'd hate to miss any random, last minute offers of a free meal. Hell, getting any call would be pleasant change of pace.