Nope. Still Not Chris Ehrline.

For about six weeks now, members of the Ehrline family of San Bernardino, California have called repeatedly in hopes of speaking to Chris. It started late January when an elderly gentleman called to ask if he could speak to this Chris character. I said that this was neither Chris, nor did I think that the number they have had ever been Chris’. “You see, sir,” I explained patiently and politely when he seemed disappointed that I wasn’t him, “I’ve had this number for about two years and the area code was only recently changed to 951, so there’s no possible way that this could ever have been Chris’ number.” He apologized and thanked me for my courteousness. There was suddenly a kick in my step. I could have easily been curt and hung up, but instead I performed a public service for that seemingly old, old man. Surely when he died and St. Peter asked him who among the (still) living deserved a break, he’d say “I don’t know his name, but I can most certainly give you his cell phone number.”

The phone rang again, and again the same elderly man asked for Chris. “No, sir, this still isn’t Chris. Perhaps you wrote the wrong number or are mistaking a seven for a four.” Again, he apologized, thanked me and that seemed to be the end of it. Well, that end lasted perhaps another two minutes. He called again, but this time asked for Chris Ehrline, as if somehow I’d been confused about which Chris SPECIFICALLY he’d been looking for. “Nope, this isn’t Chris Ehrline’s number either.”

Another two minutes passed—I continued about my business, whatever that may have been—when I got another call from the same number. This time it was what sounded like a middle-aged woman asking for Chris. “No, ma’am, I explained to the gentleman before that this has always been the number for Paco Ramirez.”

“Hmm… that’s odd. This is the number he gave us. Are you certain Chris isn’t there?”

Stroke your chin along with me on this one.

“Ma’am, not only am I certain that Chris isn’t here, but I don’t think I’ve ever even met a Chris in all of my life. Nope; never once.” She apologized, thanked me for my time and hung up only after saying to the old man “He still says it isn’t Chris’ phone.”

I stopped answering the phone after that. I suspect they were recruiting other family members and neighbors to reason with me into turning the phone over to Chris. Why hadn’t I stopped answering before? (That was you asking) Well, that’s my business and I thank you for not probing. Truth is I had absolutely nothing to do and I had secretly hoped that Chris would call me to ask if he had any messages. Also, it made me seem really important and indispensable to receive that many phone calls while waiting for a train.

I had forgotten the whole thing when perhaps two weeks later, I received another series of inquiries for Chris Ehrline. “Sir, can you send Chris a letter, perhaps, asking him to call you? Unless he lives nearby…” That clearly wasn’t an option. This time, I probably only received three calls instead of the four dozen I’d gotten in the first barrage.

Just four days ago, I received another call from the Ehrline family. It threw me totally off guard; I had completely forgotten that these were the same culprits from before. “Oh, still not his number, huh? Listen, do you happen to know Chris Ehrline?”

No. But, I loathe him. If it helps at all, I’m very familiar with my hatred for Chris… would you like to talk to that?

SIDEBAR:
INSANITY (as defined by THE DICTIONARY): noun, the inability to understand the nature or consequences of one’s acts or events, matters or proceedings in which one is involved.

So, I’ve come to a couple conclusions. First, Chris must have grown to hate his silly, crazy family calling to such a degree that to this day he insists that my phone number goes directly to his phone. Chris, I’m with you, buddy. Secondly, these people are somehow convinced that through their patience, I will—at some point—grow into the Chris they know and torment. Either that, or they’re going to catch Paco/Chris off guard in a call from a distant, yet well liked, cousin and I will reveal that I, in fact, have always been Chris Ehrline and I’ve thoroughly gotten their collective goat.

Why wait? Should the Ehrline family ever call again, I’m going to do what I can to convince them that I’m Chris. “What do you mean you don’t recognize my voice, grandpa? Have you been taking your medicine?” “Yeah, sorry about that, mom, I’ve been so busy lately that I’ve been forced to pretend I’m someone named Paco even in my voicemail. I have a lot more free time now; tell me about everything.” “Yes, this is Chris Ehrline’s phone… or, to be specific, it was. I found it in his clothes after I strangled and devoured him. No, no, there’s no need to worry, he was delicious! You raised a fine boy, Mrs. Ehrline. A fine boy!”

That’s all.