“May I speak with Amdalah? Amalda?” asked the female caller with the middle eastern accent.


“I am wanting to call to speak with Alamdah, ” she told me.

“I’m sorry. You must have the wrong number.”

“What is your name being?” she continued.

“What?” I asked as my mouth fell to the I’ll be staying wide open and slack for the next little while position.

“I say, what is your name being?” She said a touch louder.

“I…no. No.”

“You are not telling me what it is your name?” She asked with surprise.

“No. I am not telling you what is my…look, you have the wrong number. Thank you.”

“It is ok, I do not need Amdalada. I can with you speak, miss.” She said quickly.

“Ah, no. I have to go. My name is Amanda.” Click. I hung up.

What possessed me to toss the correct pronunication of my name out in the end is beyond me. She was no doubt thinking, “Whew boy, that woman sured showed me!” Seriously though, is it just me or are the majority of tele-terrorizers foreign? Is the accent a sly way of throwing us off, making us more willing to listen or forgive things because they are not speaking their native tongue? Is practicing my name before they call too much to ask? Even if they mispronounce it, just so long as they try to stick with the original letters of my name.

Because I can, the call came from:


Feel free to call and ask for “Amanamigdala