||[Jul. 17th, 2004|03:56 am]
Before I became a paralegal, I worked as a buyer for a medical supply company in Anchorage, Alaska. This wasn't retail bandaids; we provided everything from hospital beds to hypodermic needles to x-ray and surgical equipment. The biggest challenge was wrangling profitable contracts for relatively small orders - unlike large hospital foundations, places in Alaska often needed only a dozen of an item, not 12 gross, and persuading manufacturers to give us a wholesale contract was not always easy.
Because of the four-hour time difference with the east coast, I found that my optimal phoning hours were early in the morning, so I generally arrived at work around 6:30. I would make calls, leave messages, take calls, and get a lot of work done before anyone else arrived.
One morning I was sitting at the front desk when the phone rang. I answered with a perky "ProMed Services, this is Gini, may I help you."
There was a short pause.
"Hi." The male voice was friendly, drawling.
"How you doin'?"
I frowned. "Fine..."
"What you doin'?"
"Um, trying to work. Where are you calling from?"
"California. Where are you?"
This was going beyond weird. He'd called me! "Alaska."
There was another brief pause, and then he said, "Well, how about it?"
I was completely baffled. "How about what?"
I heard a huff of exasperation. "Phone sex!"
"Uh..., I think you have the wrong number."
He hung up. The only thing I can figure is that Alaska's area code is 907, and he must have misdialed a 900 number.
When the boss walked in, I said, "Gary, if you've started up a new business venture, I'm gonna need a private office."