It’s always entertaining to see what happens when people get the wrong number. Every time a new adventure – one time you’d be pranking them, sometimes you might receive a drunk call from someone you don’t know, you name it. Anyway, it’s quite neat.

For instance, one time the answering machine picked up some message, quite sad as a matter of fact, of some girl almost breaking into tears telling the answering machine about something, which sounded as if she got stood up or something by some guy (grammar gave it away.) didn’t move me really, she wasn’t all that coherent, but the “acting” was good, certainly.

And then there’s this one time somebody called to find out the prices of different types of blocks, “combining blocks” or whatever he called them. So we had a conversation about blocks all the while I pretended to be this company in the block-business. Fun. I learned a lot about different types and colors of blocks, helpful stuff.

Oh, at some point somebody (whom I did not know at all) managed to find my answering machine’s password (must have left it on the default?) and recorded the same message, only in their own voice. Retarded if you ask me. So I had to signal them that I knew this was happening all the time, and so I said something like “and fuck the asshole who changes this message.” At that day, my aunt called and failed to pick up the phone. We never spoke about that incident later.

And then there’s those “wrong number calls” (or messages) that put some sort of hope in you. And so it happened that at around 2:00 am last Saturday, just as I was brushing my teeth, I felt the vibration of the phone in my pocket. On-off-on, on-off-on, seems like a message.

I took the phone out of my pocket, with the hand that wasn’t busy with the toothbrush, and looked at the message. Curious text: “Love you…”

I checked the number, +46, a Swedish number. The number ended in 19. So I sat down and made a list of people I know with Swedish numbers, crossed out the ones that didn’t have my number, or where not likely to ask for it, or that didn’t have who to ask it from and stayed with just one person. I will use a pseudonym to hide that person’s identity. Kizuki.

It made no sense, for one, Kizuki was male. That is not to say that I would find it problematic, no, it was the fact that he was straight that stuck me peculiar. And then also there was the fact that he in Japan for the holiday as far as I knew. He could have gotten my number, had he wanted it. No, it wasn’t him, that wasn’t his number.

It could have been Moruku, but he doesn’t actually know my number, I don’t recall giving it to him at least. No, not him either.

I could have left it at that, but seriously, would I? Of course not!
So I turned the nearest computer on, and started sniffing around Eniro.se. Apparently reverse lookups were not a problem in Sweden, but since I wasn’t familiar with the Swedish phone system, it took me a while to realize that 57 was in fact 057.

It all boiled down to some Swedish dude named Kai. I didn’t know anyone by that name, nor did I know anyone who lived in the outskirts of Sweden really, not in that remote a location anyway.

So then I decided, he just got the wrong number. Such a shame.