Good Ol’ Phyllis

I was starting to get worried, but finally this morning we heard from Phyllis, the drunk man who periodically calls us by mistake. I’m a little concerned that he called stone drunk at 11 am on a Sunday, but whatever, at least I know Phyllis is alright.

I’m protecting his identity, or the identity of the real Phyllis, by not using his last name, but really, that’s the name that always shows on our caller ID. “That drunk guy Phyllis” is how we know him in our house. We can’t make out a word he says when he calls, so the name is all we have to go on.

 Phyllis is sort of endearing, not at all like the mean drunk who called from the Baltimore area and proceeded to harass us several times after that. No, Phyllis is harmless, likeable even. I guess I should be happy when we don’t hear from him, glad that he might be keeping it together. But Phyllis is like a member of the family now, like some long-lost uncle who lives in another state, and I’m glad to hear from him.