They're still calling for ole Darryl

I've blogged frequently about the previous owner of my cell phone number, ole Darryl. If you're a newer reader, you can catch up on all that here, here, and here.

It's been almost two years since I got my first cell phone and was given the same number that the infamous Darryl had used. I still get calls at least once a month. Just when I think it's over, here comes another one.

Today Cliff and I were on the last leg of our daily walk in the pasture and my cell phone started singing. I removed it from my fanny-pack and noticed the call wasn't from any number with which I'm familiar.

"Hello?"

"Yes, may I speak to Darryl?" queried a man with a strong Wisconsin accent.

"Darryl hasn't had this number for two years," I told him. "I think he's in jail. I've received calls from drug dealers, hookers, and the Cass County sheriff's office, all looking for him."

"Is this his grandma?"

Hmph. Do I sound that old?

"No," I told him, grumpily, "I don't know him at all. I'm just the unfortunate person who got stuck with his phone number."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Click.

Funny thing is, it always makes my day when I get to talk to friends of Darryl and tell them he's in jail. I hope they never stop calling.

The saga of Darryl continues

If you're new to this blog, go right here to read about ole Darryl. He's the person who had my cell phone number, before it became mine.

When I first got my cell phone, I'd get two or three calls for Ole' Darryl every day (sometimes in the wee hours of the morning), and it rather peeved me. I considered getting a different number.

But the thing is, I don't get a lot of cell calls of my own. The number of calls for Darryl tapered off, and I began enjoying the ones I did get.

"Is Darryl there?"

"No, I think they put him away for selling drugs," I'd answer.

Or sometimes I'd say, "Darryl's been put away; you'll have to find yourself a new pimp."

(Yes, I do have a mean streak.)

One time I gave this sort of answer and found out it was the Cass County sheriff's office looking for him; I explained my situation to the nice lady. She asked if I knew Darryl's last name. Of course, I did not.

But now I do. Yesterday a female asked to talk to Darryl Walliker. (I'm only guessing at the spelling.)

That name explains, at least halfway, why a guy called some time back asking for Darryl "the licker".

Anyhow. I gave the gal yesterday my stock answer: "They must have put him away for selling drugs."

"Thanks," she said, and ended the call.

Last night I noticed I had a text message on my cell. I wish I hadn't deleted it so quickly, but here's the jist of it: "Stop f***ing with my girl friend's head, or I'll whip your ass."

Haaaaaaaa!!!!!

Thanks, Darryl, for being my own little soap opera.

I wonder if I should call the Cass county sheriff and tell him I now know Darryl's last name?

Remember, this is a cell phone we're talking about, so there's no way anyone other than law enforcement folks could locate me.