(In honor of a reading of this story at the 2022 West Virginia Writers Conference this weekend, here’s a reposting of this Horribly True Tale.)
When I worked as a morning drive radio DJ, back in the `’`90s, frequently we would get calls from people who wished to complain about something they heard on the radio which had offended them. Trouble was, with few exceptions, the thing they heard that had offended them had been said by an on-air personality on a completely different radio station than the one I was employed by. Yep, whenever John Boy and Billy said something saucier than most decent folks cared for, the offended of Northeast Mississippi had no other recourse than to open the phone book, pick a radio station at random, and call me up to give me a lecture about something I had not even said. We called these “Iiiiiii’m offended” calls.
For the past 15 years, my wife and I have experienced a different version of this sort of behavior in what we’ve come to refer to as the “Friiiiiitz” calls. Somewhere around 2006, at approximately 3 a.m., our land line rang, waking us up. Since 3 a.m. is outside the normal hours of telephone conversations, we naturally expected the call to be from a relative bearing tragic news. I braced myself for the worst as I answered the phone.
ME—Hello?
(noise… noise… labored breathing)
ME— Hello?
FEMALE CALLER— Friiiiitz?
ME— I’m sorry, what?
CALLER— Is this Friiiiitz?
ME— Um, this is Eric Fritzius.
(labored breathing)
CALLER— Is this Friiitz… from Fritz’s Pharmacy?
ME— No, I’m afraid it’s not. My name is Eric Fritzius.
(noise… noise… labored breathing)
CALLER— You’re not Friiitz?
ME— No.
(noise… noise… labored breathing)
CALLER— Do you have… Fritz’s number?
ME— No. I’m sorry, I don’t.
(labored breathing)
CALLER— I need… to call Fritz. I’m having… an emergency.
ME— Um… (Looks to wife, who, at the time, was a medical resident) She says she’s having an emergency.
WIFE—Tell her to call 911 or go to the ER.
ME— Ma’am. I’m sorry, but if you’re having a medical emergency, you need to call 911 or go to the emergency room.
(noise… noise… labored breathing)
CALLER— I caiiint dooo thaaaat.
(click)
That was the first of at least a dozen such hour-of-the-wolf “Friiiiitz” calls we have since received. I’m pretty sure the same lady has called us many of those times, but other folks have as well. Folks who are experiencing what they have deemed a medical emergency; folks who then decided to phone up not their doctor or otherwise an emergency medical professional, but instead their pharmacist, Fritz, because that makes a metric ton of sense; folks who then opened their white pages to F, at 3 a.m., located a last name that shares five letters with the name Fritz—which, it should be noted, is not actually Fritz’s last name to begin with, as “Fritz” is a nickname he uses in place of his first name—and then these folks blindly phone said number in the assumption that they’ll reach their target. Because all Fritzes know one another, I guess? The “Friiiiiitz” calls pretty much all follow the same script as above. And every time—every single time—no matter if it’s the original lady caller or someone new, when told we are not the Fritz they’re looking for, these folks ask if we know Fritz’s number.
No, we most certainly do not have Fritz’s number.
We have gone out of our way not to have Fritz’s number and have never even checked to see if it’s actually listed. Our reason is because if we were to look it up then we would have Fritz’s number, and the fact that we would still not be willing to give out someone else’s home number, at 3 a.m., to people who should be calling 911 to begin with, would mean we were willingly withholding said information, implicating us in their death should they pass from the medical emergency they refuse to call the proper medical assistance to assist with. Instead, we have always been polite when such calls come in, but we always advise the callers that in medical emergencies the only number they need to phone is, in point of fact, 911. And, frequently, they have issued the declaration of “I caiiint dooo thaaaat,” but have so far never elaborated as to why.
In 2008, we moved, relocating from Greenbrier County to Mercer County. There are no Fritz’s Pharmacy locations in Mercer County, though, so our “Friiiiiitz” calls came to an end.
In 2012, we moved back to Greenbrier County, got a brand new land line phone number, listed it in the white pages, and within three months of our return, right on time at 3 a.m., the phone rang.
ME— Hello?
(noise… noise… labored breathing)
FEMALE CALLER— Friiiiitz?
ME— No. This is not Fritz. This is the Fritzius residence. We are not related to Fritz.
(3… 2… 1…)
CALLER— Do you have Fritz’s number?
ME— No. We do not have Fritz’s number. Again, we are not related to Fritz. Our name only shares five letters with his name.
(Okay, we’re not ALWAYS polite.)
CALLER— I need to call Fritz. I’m having an emergency.
ME— Then you need to call 911 or go to the emergency room.
(3… 2… 1…)
CALLER— I caaaiiint do thaaaat.
(click)
We’ve had a few more “Friiiiiitz” calls in the years since, some during actual daylight hours as well, most from folks other than the usual lady. However ,they’ve not been coming in at the same volume as our earlier stint in the county.
While writing this, and after 15 years of steadfastly avoiding the attempt, I finally looked up Fritz’s home number. It’s been right there in the phone book the whole time, it seems, but the callers wouldn’t have been able to determine which number was his even if they had known his actual last name, because “Fritz” was smart enough not to have his phone number listed under his nickname either. Instead “Fritz” used his actual first name, which also starts with F but is also not Fritz. In other words, the real Fritz doesn’t want these calls any more than us Fake Shemp Fritzes do.
Alas/Huzzah, the days of the 3 a.m. Friiiiitz calls are probably at an end. Fritz recently sold his chain of pharmacies to CVS and will no longer be dispensing meds under that name. And I am astounded and just a little disappointed that we’ve not received even one “Friiiiitz” call due to this transition.