Mis-dialed phone call becomes 'odds-on favorite' anecdote
JERRY AULDS

Whoopee and yippy-ki-yi-yay! The multi-state Powerball lottery, with its $100 and $200 million dollar payoffs, at odds of 123,000,000 to 1 is supposedly Texas-bound.

If so, El Campo's Kenny Mach might just as well keep his gambling stash tucked away in his jeans pocket, 'cause ole Kenny's long-shot luck got used up two weeks ago on a wrong number.

I'm not making this up.

Mach's long-shot luck tale came to me via his neighbor, Georgia Mican, the ever-friendly, always smiling, front-counter gal at El Campo Farmers Co-op's hardware store.

Two Saturdays back, unbeknownst to her co-workers, neighbors or the rest of the free world, Georgia took the day off from co-op hardware sales to attend a "Pampered Chef" bridal shower. On that particular Saturday morning, Georgia's sole link to the outside world was her husband, Michael Mican, who had dropped her off at the party at her friend's house. While Georgia and the other ladies were giggling, sampling the goodies, and oohing and aahing at the exotic kitchen utensils, and also chippingin with some wedding-night advice to the soon-to-be bride, the hostess's telephone rang.

After listening for a moment to the caller at the other end of the line, the hostess handed the phone to Georgia, saying, "It's for you," with a puzzled look on her face as to who the caller might be.

Taking the phone with equal bewilderment, since it obviously was not her husband on the telephone, Georgia conjured up images of a Homeland Security investigation or at least a family emergency like her son needing to know how long to heat up the frozen pancakes he was having for brunch.

But when she answered the phone with a quietly whispered, "Hello?" so as not to disturb the party, she recognized the voice of her next-door neighbor, Kenny Mach, loudly exclaiming, "Morning, Georgia, this is Kenny - how are things goin' at the co-op?"

Georgia was puzzled when, without waiting for her to answer, he rambled on about the excitement his family had had over at his house the night before, when their dog had delivered a litter of puppies, and he needed to know if it was okay for him to put some of that co-op flea medicine on Mama Dog's back this morning, and if so, could she go get it off the shelf and have it for him at the counter when he got there in a minute?

"I don't know," she mumbled, when he stopped long enough to take a breath, still confused at how this call could be interrupting her sampling of the no-cook pizza that the Pampered Chef lady had prepared after cutting up all the veggies with the shiny new knives and chopping blades she wanted them to order.

"Kenny," she murmured when she was finally able to get a word in edgewise on his excited monologue, "I'm not at the store, I'm at a party - how in the world did you get this telephone number?"

"Georgia, quit kidding around, I got the co-op number outta the book! Is it okay to use that stuff?" he persisted. "Just go look on the shelf and tell me if you've got it!"

Still hunched over the telephone and trying to keep this crazy conversation from interrupting the party, Georgia whispered more intensely, "Kenny, take my word for it - I'm not at work, I'm at a bridal shower," as she held the telephone out, hoping he would hear the sounds of the party festivities in the background.

Finally, silence at the other end of the line. The realization had sunk in for Kenny - he was talking to Georgia, but she was not at the co-op!

Calmly and with great composure, as if there had been nothing strange in the least about this little morning chat with his neighbor, he said to her, in his most reassuring tones, "Well, don't you worry, I'll just stop on by the co-op myself, and everything'll be all right. Come on over when you get home to see these cute puppies!"

Click.

Well, here it is two weeks later, Mama Dog and the puppies are all fine, the bride loved all of the "pampering," and Georgia's back to her usual Saturday morning routine, still smiling, even if she's a little "dog-gone" mystified at the odds-defying telephone contact.

Now, you math geniuses out there, let's figure the odds. Kenny Mach dialed a wrong number and still reached exactly the person to whom he wished to speak. Let's just say that out of 3,000-4,000 telephones with 543 prefixes, Kenny reached his intended person out of the 10,000 or so potential possibilities.

Maybe it's not 123,000,000 to 1, but as Cajun humorist Justin Wilson used to say, "It's close, close, close, guar-on-tee!"

This classic Jerry Aulds column first appeared on July 12, 2003.