THEY'VE GOT MY NUMBER

You’d think we were a nation of spies with all our passcodes and usernames and unlisted cell phone numbers. I’ll admit that (even with tons of caffeine) my memory is somewhat impaired by my advanced years or maybe it’s just laziness. In any case, I can’t believe how hard it is to get ahold of someone. For one thing, as mentioned, cell phones are unlisted. For another, there’s no longer a phonebook with anything except commercial numbers in it. And then there’s the annoying practice of using words to remind you of an enterprise. Word-numbers like 206-647-8262, which translates to 206-Nirvana or 1-800-Got Junk. I always avoid calling letters but several weeks ago, looking for advice about my mom, I needed to contact a nurse’s help station at St. Joseph’s Mercy Hospital in Ann Arbor and the number listed was a word. Something like 734-NURSESS. I dialed away, hoping I wouldn’t get an automated message and thinking about my questions and then, lo and behold, a person picked up the phone. A woman. “Hello,” she said, sounding as if she didn’t mean it. “Oh, hi,” I said, brightly. “I’m trying to find out whether my mom needs a biopsy in order to have radiation.” A brief pause. “Who is this?” I explained. Over explained. I was the daughter, calling from out of town, didn’t want to risk a lung collapse, blah, blah, blah. More silence and then “Who gave you this number?” By now I was wondering whether I’d accidentally called a Southeast Michigan branch of the CIA or some other secret agency. “Uh, I think it was Stacy Somebody. I think she’s a social worker.” “Huh,” the voice said, disapproval dripping from the single syllable. “That’s happened before. The number is only one digit off from ours.” “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said, still thinking it was weird she hadn’t given me a department or a name. “Who did I call?” “The hospital morgue.” Let me go on to say her name was Mary and we chatted for a few minutes. I told her I was interested in morgues because of writing mystery stories and she told me she was interested in the Upper Peninsula. So we talked about snow and death for a few minutes and at the end of the conversation she invited me to drop in when I was in town. “Just to visit,” she added, hastily. “Not to stay.” In spite of the pleasant encounter, I still don’t like word phone numbers. But just for fun I tried to convert my number to a word and I came up with 703-SVU-OINK. If you call it, expect me to respond with a suspicious “Who is this?”