Mexico Living: With Lenny and Bubba

I have the very worst luck with getting wrong-number phone calls, no matter what country I live in. Believe me, when we moved to Mexico, the problem didn't get any better.

When we lived in Overland Park, Kansas, the wrong numbers started the very day we moved in and had our phone connected. Someone, no, I mean thousands of people, began calling for Air-Tech Technologies. The company title is a redundancy, I know, and perhaps that's why at least seven countries were hunting down the CEO of this business to beat him senseless for that name, but no!

Apparently, these yahoos sold some sort of components for jet fighter computerized navigation systems. The component did not work. These people to whom Mr. Ha-Ha-I've-Got-Your-Money sold these defective microchips wanted to have a few words with him, which I am sure meant they wanted to threaten him in the most menacing way imaginable.

Mr. Air-Tech CEO previously had the number we were now assigned. The phone company did not retire his number when he, of course, wink, wink, changed it.

For 180 days, we received Air-Tech's calls from all over the world. Companies in New Zealand and Australian that were looking for this guy were forever forgetting how to calculate the time differences between Kansas and Down Under.

Once, I received a dozen faxes from the New Zealand government demanding I fork over a refund that I think was at least 8 digits, or else!

I finally asked someone what exactly we were being hounded about. I talked with an Australian newspaper reporter who told me the entire scoop. Finally, I called the phone company. After several service reps, each of which insisted I retell the story for his or her mirth and enjoyment, changed our telephone number for free.

So, here I am thinking that moving to Mexico would offer us some relief from what I erroneously thought was an American issue-wrong numbers. Mexico is even worse!

The current battle in which we are engaged is for someone named "Luis Alvarez." I have no idea what he's wanted for nor why everyone in all of Latin America is after him, but this guy must owe everyone money. He must have signed up for a loan and then didn't make payments, has gambling debts, or at the very least is loved and wanted by all of Mexico and seven other Latin American countries.

We get calls, and I am not making this up, for Luis Alvarez so many times a day that we've lost count. As I am typing these words, the phone, which we had to unplug, is now sitting there unavailable for us to use. If it were plugged in, it would be ringing off the hook for our good friend, Luis, who must have us as character references or something!

I swear to God, I got this call at 2:30 am one morning last fall:

To save time, I have translated it into English.

Mexican: Hello, is Luis Alvarez there?

Me: I am afraid you have the wrong number.

Mexican: Did I dial 555-5555?

Me: Yes.

Mexican: Then I got the right number. I would like to talk to Luis Alvarez, please, if it's not a bother.

Me: There is no Luis Alvarez here.

Mexican: But I dialed the correct number.

Me: Yes, you did but Luis Alvarez doesn't live here.

Mexican: (After a long and pregnant pause) Oh, I see. Well, then, can you go and get Luis Alvarez for me?

Me: Say, what?

Mexican: Can you run to wherever Luis Alvarez is and get him to the phone for me?

Me: You still don't understand. This is not Luis Alvarez's house.

Mexican: Oh, I get that. Are you a gringo or something? Never mind. Can you just go and get him?

Me: But, I don't know any Luis Alvarez.

Mexican: I am sure he lives in your Barrio (neighborhood). Can you ask your neighbors where he lives and then go get him?

Me: No, I don't think I can do that.

Mexican: You've got to be a gringo. Ok, Let me ask you this: Can I leave a message for Luis Alvarez? When you see him, can you give it to him?

Me: But I don't know any Luis Alvarez!

Mexican: ¡Qué Padre!

Me: I am going to hang up now.

Mexican: Ok, Gringo-man, just tell Luis Alvarez when you see him that Chucho called.

Click

We were waiting for a call from a friend so we plugged in the phone and forgot it was "HOT!" and ready for "LIVE" Luis Alvarez action!

(This conversation has been translated from the Spanish for clarity, alacrity, familiarity, and any other "ity" you can imagine...)

ME: Hello?

PERT AND RUDE MEXICANA: I would like to speak with Luis Alvarez.

A Short Pause in the Action

I have been sitting around planning and plotting most fiendishly for months just how to respond to these people. The reason is that they cannot seem to grasp what "You're reached a wrong number" means. This is not a Mexican phenomenon. When I was in America, this old lady would always call and insist on making a hair appointment with me. No matter what I told her, no matter how I pled with her that I wasn't "Get Nailed" Hair, Wax, and Nail Salon, she insisted I take her appointment. To keep her from hounding me, I begin scheduling her in. So, this happens anywhere that has phones.

Back to the Action

ME: This is the house of Bower.

PERT AND RUDE MEXICANA: The house is in a shower?

ME: This is a house of Gringos.

PERT AND RUDE MEXICANA: I don't care where you are from; I want to speak with Luis Alvarez.

ME: We are Gringos from the United States and we don't know this guy.

PERT AND RUDE MEXICANA: Have I reached 555-5555?

ME: Yes, but we don't know this guy.

PERT AND RUDE MEXICANA: Then why do we have your address and phone number as his place of residence?

ME: Because, Chiquita, he is a crazy man much like you are a crazy woman for failing to grasp the concept that ...YOU HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER!

Now, this would have lagged on for minutes were it not for a string of Spanish epithets that somehow quite miraculously came rushing out of my mouth. I was possessed by the Street-Spanish Demon and cannot be held responsible for what happened next.