As a young woman who left home to move interstate away from her parents, the daily phone call home is a must.  I was waiting in the halls of the RMIT campus, building 9 when my phone screen lit up “Home calling”.  As I readily answered the phone with my sing-song voice, about to gush to my mother about the days’ gossips and trials I heard:

“Hello…”

“Hello?” I responded

“I’m looking for John.”

“This isn’t John… This is Bronte.  You must have the wrong number.”

“Oh, okay I’ll try again”

That was weird.  Anyway, I figured Mum’s call wouldn’t be too far away and sure enough my phone once again illuminated with “Home calling”.

“Hello?” I cautiously answered.

“Hello, Bronte?” My mother responded.  “I’ve just been on the phone to a man named John.”

So, somewhere along the invisible, intergalactical telephone lines some random woman phoning John, and my mother’s call were twisted.  By some bizarre possibility we were connected to the wrong people.  In a world that is dominated by 21st century technology, this seems extremely astounding, I know.  I didn’t even realise this inception was still possible!

Anyway, Good luck John, the woman who called me sounded quite stern.