Yesterday started out like any other. I procrastinated through a lengthy breakfast. I wrote a bit, while simultaneously throwing the ball for my kitten, who plays fetch. Over, and over, and over. Then a client call.
During said client call, my google voice calling system started deluging me with calls. I sent them all to voicemail while apologizing to the client, and while throwing the cat’s ball. Over, and over, and over. I am quite the multitasker.
After hanging up with my client, I checked voicemail. No messages, but at least eight phone calls within the fifty minute client session. So, I did what any investigative journalist masquerading as a psychotherapist does. I started calling those numbers.
The first one added to the mystery. She’d received a suspicious email invoice from a pet food manufacturer. Only she had never bought their pet food. It had a pdf link she was smart enough not to open. She went to their website, found the customer service number, called it, and got me instead.
I don’t believe curiosity killed the cat, although it certainly makes my ball fetching kitten create huge messes, detailed in another story. So I called the second number. The woman who answered owns a company in Tampa. She had at least done business with the pet food company, Nulo, which is based in Austin, Texas, where I live. She knew the owner by name. Randy. She, too, had gotten a strange email, was afraid to open the pdf link, and had called the customer service number. She got my voicemail.
She gave me the number to Nulo. I hung up, called it, and, you guessed it, got my own voicemail. Which, by the way, as a psychotherapy office line tells callers in case of emergency to dial 911 or go to the nearest emergency room. I’m guessing that’s why none of the callers left messages. What would constitute a pet food emergency? My cats make it seem like an emergency when they’re out of food, so there’s that.
I called Tampa back to tell her I had no way to reach Nulo, since my call also went to my voicemail. She joked that if I dropped in on the Nulo manufacturing plant to personally report the problem, maybe they would give me free cat food. She then asked me if I got in touch with Randy, Nulo’s owner and CEO, to ask him to call her. I had gone from hacked phone call recipient to Randy’s secretary. I felt like Randy and I were getting to be buddies.
Enough with the phone calls. I got online to the Nulo website and started a live chat. Turns out their IT people knew about the emails, but not the phone situation. I gave her all the info I had, including my phone number the calls were going to, and the names and numbers of the two people I spoke with. I fulfilled my new duty as Randy’s secretary, and asked her to tell Randy to call the Tampa lady. Later, I received and answered another call for Randy. I was definitely part of the Nulo team now. Especially since I was the one telling people not to open the email pdf. Same story. Email, website, customer service number, me.
I don’t know if Nulo’s IT folks ever fixed the hacked email situation. They must have done something about the phone crossover, because I haven’t gotten any calls today. I’ll miss the excitement. Now, there is only the ball fetching kitty to keep me from my writing and clients.
On the bright side, I now have a sheet of coupons for Nulo cat food coming to me through snail mail. If nobody figures out a way to hack that.