To the person who has my old Florida cell phone number, I’d like to say: I’m sorry about the calls you’ve been getting.

First, my friend Jay called you and may or may not have yelled at you for not being me.  Also, if he had any surreal adventures on public transportation before he figured out I changed my number, well, you probably got a text message or two.

And now, my friend Mike has called pretending to represent the political campaign of a fictional television character, which I thought was hilarious, but you…apparently did not.

Look, I sent an email and when I got my new number, and I’m not sure what happened.  All I can offer you by way of consolation is this: when my friends John and Randy heard about all the random questions I have to answer as part of my job, and they decided to call and pretend to want medical advice about what to do if “it burns when I pee,” they called me at work.  So, you were spared that one, whereas I laughed about the whole thing for two days.  I’m a little gross like that.


It occured to me that I could call you–I still remember the number–but I dismissed the idea because, really, aren’t you sick of me by now?