Small Town Life – Air Force Space Command

Today I needed to call a number I never had called before. I’m usually pretty good with this but let’s blame this one on pregnancy brain, ok?

867-530niiii-iii-iiiine!!!!!

So I dial.

“This is Air Force Space Command. General (somebody) speaking.” IN THE MOST ED HARRIS VOICE EVER!!!!

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! “Ummmm… I’m looking for Dr. Peterson of the Foot and Ankle Clinic?”

He was not some lowly secretary answering phones at the civilian contact office. This was a GENERAL who’s direct line I had happened upon.”This is Air Force Space Command. You definitely have the wrong number!” 

 

But to me it sounded like, “Breach! National Security! Someone GPS this lady and send out those awesome black unmarked SUV’s to pick her up and interrogate her!”

“Sorry?” I hung up red faced and walked out to make sure we weren’t being drone struck.

I dialed one wrong number of 10 and that was it. I was in contact with exactly who we need if the bad Transformers ever attack or Loki gets out of his handcuffs. 

I got your backs, people!