"Sorry, wrong number," is just one of those phrases that's not in some people's vocabulary. For some people, "wrong number" just means "I want you to keep texting me over and over until I admit I'm the person you were looking for in the first place." Here are 12 instances of wrong numbers gone even wronger.

1. Before getting into the longer text sagas, whet your appetite for the pathetic with the guy inexplicably seeking out Cookie Monster.

I assure you, this is Cookie Monster.
I assure you, this is Cookie Monster.

2. Now you're ready to sit back with a glass of wine and sip on the flawless chronicle of the "little whit kid" who wasn't Nicole.

(Editor's note: Several sequential screenshots have been combined into the image.)

3. Did you get through that insanity? Reward yourself with this strange bro.

Sometimes it's easier to deny.
Sometimes it's easier to deny.

4. And now you're properly trained to understand the long, sloppy, confusing, and meme-ful story that is the quest of Miss Taken.


It continues, with the Imgur poster writing, "At this point I rejected a phone call from her." The following text chronicles the contents of that voicemail:

Hey (Name on my VM) Why don't you answer your phone? This is Dawn. I know you know Bobbie and Travis. Its too coincidental. I am forwarding all the messages that I forwarded to you, to Bobbie's phone. But I do know that you know them, cause its the same area code, the same prefix as Fort Myers FL. I'm not stupid. If you have the guts, call me back (Insert her phone number here). You are a friend of both of them. I'm not stupid.


Followed by the final, fateful exchange:


5. You made it. Good to see you again. Here's a story from a Redditor named rosiering. It's about a lady who demanded a company fix her recycling. Any company. Even the wrong company.

I work in the office at a landscape supply store in a small-town-like area. We manufacture our products. To get our raw materials, like wood and wood chips, we have landscapers and tree companies come in and dump their trucks of this material so we can make mulch out of it.

Unfortunately, due to this practice, the owner decided to call his company a recycling company. The company name has "recycling" in the title. We only recycle wood and sometimes dirt, so I wouldn't call us a recycling company, but alas, I do not make the rules. This misnomer sometimes makes my job more difficult.

Also for context: In my area, the county provides a service where homeowners can set out their plastics, glass bottles, newspapers, other papers, cans, etc. to be picked up on a date specified by your neighborhood. They will come by, scoop up the recyclables, and take them off to a place that I assume recycles them. The company I work for is in no way affiliated with this system.

So, this occurred in autumn about a year ago. The phone rang so I answered it, as per my office job requires. I did my usual greeting and then this woman just launched into this complaining rant. I tried to jump in and explain that she had the wrong number, but she did not let me speak.

She explained that the people who come and collect recycling have been spilling the recycling everywhere and destroying this woman's recycling bins that she uses. She went on and on about how inappropriate this is and that I needed to do something about it and how it needs to be resolved immediately.

After several minutes, I finally cut in.

Me: "Ma'am, I believe you have the wrong number. We are not responsible for the recycling pick up. We do not work for the county. If you'll give me a moment, I can do a quick internet search and find the right number for you."

Woman: "I got your number from the phone book. It says you're a recycling company."

Me: "Yes. We are called Blah Blah Recycling. But, unfortunately, we are privately owned and do not provide the recycling pick up you are referring to. We actually use wood and other natural materials to make mulch, which we sell."

Woman: "But, you're listed in the phone book!"

Me: "Yes. And I apologize for the misinformation. I would be happy to help you find the --"

Woman: "This is a serious problem and I need it resolved as soon as possible."

Me: "Of course, I understand. Ah, the correct number is [this]."

And I went on to explain who she should be contacting. She seemed to accept the information, but she did not thank me. She stayed silent on the line for a couple seconds and then:

Woman: "Are you sure you're not the people I should talk to? The phone book lists [places we are located in and near to] as the locations you serve, which coincides with my neighborhood."

Me: "Yes, I'm sure. As I mentioned, we manufacture mulch here. We don't collect any other materials. Ma'am, would you like some mulch?"

Woman: "Oh."

And then she hung up.

tl;dr Woman finds the wrong company in the phone book and calls with a complaint, but does not accept that she has the wrong number because her phone book told her we are lying to her about what company we are.


6. Here's one from another redditor, MaineUSA, who wants to tell you what wrong numbers looked like back in the days before texting.

This happened to me in the late 80's when VCR's were state of the art. I received a wrong number about 11pm on a Friday night from someone I'll call Clueless Guy (CG).

Me: Hello CG: Rick, don't hang up. I got to talk to ya. Me: Wait a minute.. CG: No, just hear me out. You're holding my VCR and I promise you that I'm good for the money, It's just that my kids are crying about not having it. Me: You don't know who you are talking to. CG: Rick, yes I do. I know enough to give you respect. I know you are a tough guy but I'm really in trouble at home for having you hold the VCR. I PROMISE I'll pay you this time. Can't I please come over and get it? It would be a really big favor. Me: Ok, but I'm getting ready for bed. You better come over now. CG: Rick, you're the best!

I always wondered what the scene was like when he showed up. I tried to tell him I wasn't the guy, but I think he was flying a bit high.


7. Back to the present. This epitome of Internet heroism got a wrong number and immediately started impersonating Jake from State Farm.

He did not "stop messing around." He continued ruthlessly.

"Potential Customer" was more persistent than any sales rep has a right to be.


And now a sordid detail emerges, regarding Stephanie, Potential Customer, and a stray chair.


Alas, Potential Customer cannot receive picture texts.


And the joke continues forever.

At this point, "Jake" apparently uses someone else's phone to include "Daquon" in the saga.


Then returns to his other phone to let the torture continue.


At least Potential Customer almost got some insurance out of the ordeal.

And that's it. Who's lonely after reading that?


8. Exhausted yet? Clear your palette with a quick, upsetting misunderstanding.

9. Here's a story from the subreddit r/IDon'tWorkHereLady, and it is the motherload of sad, lonely fools who just want a free lunch at a casino.

My father is a very enterprising fellow. His work has him traveling quite often, and spending a great deal of time on the phone with people across the world. Not wanting to be reamed in the ass for these lengthy calls, he purchased an 800-number for his home office. The deal he got is something like 10 cents/minute, anywhere in the world, but I don't remember the exact details.

The number he got is one of those with a particular assonance to it that makes it easy to remember. Unfortunately it's also fairly close to the number for a casino in Idaho. And when I say fairly close, I mean two digits are different, and they aren't even close together on the keypad. This being a casino, though, their customers are largely over the proverbial hill. So we get frequent wrong numbers. Several a month.

Normally this isn't anything more than a nuisance. Obviously we get the normal share of folks insisting that it is WE who are mistaken and that we MUST be the casino, because they're SURE they dialed it right. For the most part, though, these people are pretty reasonable. Then, on the other hand, we had the summer of 2007.

That fateful summer, it just so happened that the casino itself made the same mistake that many of its customers made, and continue to make, every month. They distributed a flyer. With our number on it. And for three months, every half hour we would get a call. Now that they had some documentation, these snowbirds were downright incensed. Nothing was going to stand between them and their free lunch.

The first call with each new geriatric berserker would be about the same. we'd spend about 1-5 minutes trying to explain that they had the wrong number, depending on their level of stubbornness. Then they'd give up, and a few minutes later we'd get another call. The same person, but this time they were sure they'd dialed it right. So we must be lying. After all, the flyer gave them this number, and they had dialed it right, so we HAD to be the casino. The idea was mystical to them, as though I was reading to them from an ancient spellbook written in a dead language. The average caller would end up on the phone with us three times before we got them to understand.

This incident also produced what was, and is to this day, the most baffling thing another human has ever said to me. we'd all decided to shoulder some of this kafkaesque burden of proving that our family home in Canada was not secretly a casino in Idaho.

I picked up the phone. An elderly woman was on the other end. This was my second conversation with her. When I told her, once again, that this was not the gambling establishment she was looking for, she asked me, in complete earnestness, to check. She wanted me to check to make sure this wasn't the casino, as though the restaurants and slot machines might be hiding somewhere like an expired can of beans in the back of the Lazy Susan.

I hung up.


10. Meanwhile, a guy who understood pretty quickly that he had the wrong number managed to be the most lonely and desperate of them all.

Y u not Jenna?
Y u not Jenna?

11. What it looks like when the recipient of the wrong number plays along relentlessly.

12. And finally: the persistent, lonely fool who actually takes the rejection pretty well.


"But ok," indeed. It's almost sadder when they don't put up a fight.