Don't you hate it when they make a mistake on your phone bill?  Wouldn't you think that if your average monthly phone bill had been $50 for the past eight years, and then suddenly your bill read $125,332.12 that maybe the phone company would conduct an investigation before demanding payment?

But no.  Of course not.  They just send you the bill and expect someone who hasn't worked a steady job in three years to pay it.

And now we pause for a station identification from me, the author of this tale of woe.  Bringing you a commercial of woe.  Ready?

Commercial:  HELP!  I'm stuck as a substitute teacher in a kindergarten where the kids can read and write on a third grade level.  They're writing a book about me, which would be flattering, except that they plan to present it to their teacher when she returns.  And here I thought I was so clever to permit only one child at a time to go to the bathroom.  Little did I know that over the course of two weeks, each and every kid had taken a turn at painting the boys bathroom black.  Then there were the twins, one would distract me while the other one crawled out the window and... well, you'll probably hear about that one on CNN.  In the meantime, if any of you knows where I can get a real job in a real elementary school where the children aren't quite so scary, please please me and send an email out to the address listed at the end of the story.  Thank you kindly!

End of commercial

Continuation of story.

So, I telephoned the telephone company, and naturally, I couldn't reach a real person.  You know how it is.  You get that recording that tells you "your call is important to us" and then you have to listen to that awful, so-called "music" for an hour and a half.  You manage to bolster your spirits by telling yourself, "Hey, be glad you're not an unimportant caller.  Imagine how long those people have to wait."

Just as your hair starts to turn gray, you'll hear the sweetest sound in the universe:  the ringing of a phone extension.  Don't get excited, sports fans.  It's yet another recorded greeting.  But this time, you're given a list of telephone extensions.  Progress!

Naturally, none of these phone extension options matches your problem.

Darn.

Now you have to start all over again by pressing the star key.

After that comes the obligatory twenty minutes of Century 21 advertisements, followed by a Pizza Hut commercial, followed by, of all songs, "You know my name, look up the number."

Suddenly, there it was again.  The sound of a ringing telephone extension.  Would I get a live person at last?

Nope.  Just a voice recording.  But at least it was a different voice this time.  Did I finally reach the mailbox of a real person? 

"Hello, you've reached the voice mail for Richard Starkey.  Please leave a message after the tone and I'll return your call as soon as possible.  Remember to wait for the beep."

Beep.

Oh boy did I leave a message.  It sounded something like this:  "SF*_JE#%FDSYFSDKH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I dropped the phone.  No, that didn't happen.  No way did that happen.  How could it possibly have happened?  The phone lines must have crossed somehow, or maybe the neurons in my head misfired and I only thought I heard what I thought I heard.

Hey, I only work for half a day, and there's no homework for me to correct.  Though heaven only knows, this group of kids is ready for three-digit multiplication problems. 

But I digress.  Since my day was free, I spent another four hours going through the phone company's recorded messages, and then again pressed the star key.

"Hello, you've reached the voice mail for Richard Starkey."

"AHHHH!"  In my excitement, I smashed my face against my telephone keypad.  Don't ask me what buttons I pressed, but suddenly I heard a woman's voice say, "Please wait while I retrieve all your messages."

"AHHHHH!"  

"Message one."

"Hey Rings.  Stop by my place on Thursday to start putting together that next Anthology.  Sean Lennon has agreed to fill in for John's guitar, and I've got all those tapes that George left me.  See you around six, okay?"

"Message two."

"Hey Ritchie.  This is Babs.  The car died on the way home from Jenna's.  Could you come rescue me when you have a chance?"

"Message three."

"Hey Dad, it's Zak.  You won't believe this but you're going to be a grandad again!  Call me, quick!"

"Message four." 

"Hey Ritch, it's me.  I've booked some studio time on Friday.  Call me if that works for you."

"Message five."

"Paul again.  Hey, if Yoko calls, could you tell her to quit calling me?"

Message six."

"This is Yoko.  I'll call you in a few moments with an important message."

Message seven."

"This is Yoko.  I've just been channelling John.  He says he wants a higher cut for the new Anthology, or else you don't get to use Sean.  And tell Paul to quit calling me."

"Message eight."

"This is Sean.  Ignore my Mom."

"Message nine."

"This is Yoko Ono.  Ignore my son."

"Message ten."

"HRH Queen Elizabeth invites you and your wife to tea next Tuesday at 11:00 in the morning.  Please ring us your response immediately."

"End of messages."

"AHHHHHHH!"  In my dismay, I smashed my face against the phone pad again.

"Thank you.  Messages deleted."

"AHHHHHH!"  All those messages!  I deleted ten messages!  Oh no.  Oh no oh no oh NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

Good thing that the telephone company's automated answering system is open 24 hours a day.  It took me until 9:30 pm to get off hold and get Ringo's voice mail again.  This time, I waited for Ringo to tell me to "Wait for the beep."

"Hello, Mr. Starkey?  Uh, Ringo?  Uh, hi, um, right.  Uh, you don't know me, but, it seems that.... it seems that the telephone company made a little bitty mistake.  They sort of hooked your voice mail extension onto their main menu.  And then, then I uh, sort of, accidentally erased all your messages.  But don't worry.  I remember them.  Sort of.  Let's see.  I think you got one from uh.. uhh....  oh boy.  Don't worry, I'll call you back.  I'll remember them, I promise."

Around 2:30 in the morning, I reached Ringo's voice mail again.  I took a deep breath, and then began speaking.

"Hi, it's me.  Remember, the person who accidentally erased all your voicemails?  I remember that you got nine messages.  Or possibly ten.  You definitely got one from Paul.  Maybe two.  And one or two or three from Yoko.  And something about Jenna babbling about car trouble. And, good news, John Lennon is available to play for the Anthology, but Yoko won't let him because Sean is a better guitarist.  Does that make sense to you?  Oh, and there was definitely a reference to George, but I don't know if it was Harrison, Martin, or Bush.  Bad news.  The Queen of England is teed off because your wife stole her ring.  But, hey, congratulations!  I hear that Zak is going to be a grandfather!"

Phew.  The telephone nearly slipped out of my sweat-drenched fingers.  But at least I can hang up with a clear conscience, right?

Wait a minute?  What's that?  I brought the phone back to my ear.

"Who is this?" demanded a cross British male voice.  "What are you doing on this telephone extension?"

"AHHHHHHH!"  I slammed down the phone and stared at it.  "Now what?"  I shouted.  "Should I call him back?"

Nope.  Looks like I won't have to.  My phone is ringing.  I never realized that a telephone could sound quite furious. 

Dare I pick it up?

Lisha Goldberg is a freelance writer and editor. She also writes a newsletter for a Boston piano studio. Lisha has won several prizes for her writing, including the Boston Herald Star Trek Competition (write a eulogy for Captain Kirk!), CompuServe's Beatle Essay Contest, and Writers Digest Magazine Award for best Inspirational Short Story.