I am not Edwin

Listen to me. And listen well. I. AM. NOT. EDWIN.
I keep telling them I’m not Edwin. But they keep calling. And calling. And calling. They call about the Acura. They call about an extended warranty. They call about Edwin’s inquiry into an online college. And they don’t believe me that I. AM. NOT. EDWIN.
The first few calls were simple inconveniences. “I’m sorry, you have the wrong number,” I would say with Sunday school politeness.
Then it progressed to outright annoyance. “Seriously, this is not his number. Take it off your list.”
While the tendency to lash out grew, I tried to show restraint. The main reason is that I worked as a telemarketer for a brief time in college, and I assure you that the best way NOT to get off a telemarketer’s list is to curse, threaten, etc. Granted, this was before the Do Not Call List, so there was really nothing anyone could do. Dirty little secret: At the place I worked, the numbers of the nastiest callers were kept on a special list that was given to someone to call on his first day. It was an initiation of sorts. Not proud of it, folks. Just telling it like it is.
So I decided I would at least start having some fun with the calls. For example, I took one in the middle of the newsroom:
“Listen, I am not Edwin. I do not know Edwin. I do not have an Acura. I am not sure I have ever even BEEN in an Acura. I will be more than happy to put this call on speakerphone here in this newsroom and you can go around and ask every newspaper reporter sitting here if I am Edwin.” I took the “click” as a decline to be interviewed.
From this point forward, I am going to continue with the fun approach to the calls. I read a funny piece online (at woot.com) that suggested a way to deal with repeated errant calls is to suggest you meet up and show some picture IDs — driver’s license, concealed weapon permit, etc. However, that sounds a little more threatening in the real world, so maybe I could use one of the routes below:

CALLER: Is Edwin there?
ME: Yes, sort of. Listen, bro, I need your help. Do you know the best way to hide a body?
or
CALLER: Hello, Edwin?
ME: Will you marry me?
CALLER: Pardon?
ME: I, Edwin, am lonely. Be my wife. Even if you are a man. Doctors can change that. Let’s wed. Now.
or
CALLER: May I speak with Edwin?
ME: Is this some kind of joke?
CALLER: No, it’s not.
ME: YOU KNOW HE LOST HIS TONGUE IN THE MARGARITA BLENDER INCIDENT!!! EVERYONE KNOWS! IT WAS IN THE NEWS OF THE WEIRD!!!
or
CALLER: I’m calling for Edwin.
ME: No, I called you for Edwin.
or
CALLER: Edwin, please.
ME: In a minute. First, let’s figure out the difference between an emu and an ostrich. I have some guesses, but I want to hear your thoughts, particularly in terms of appropriate saddle size.
or
CALLER: Is Edwin there?
ME: Hard Target. Sudden Death. Bloodsport. Timecop — bear with me, I have a condition in which I have to name all Jean-Claude Van Damme vehicles before I can take any calls — Street Fighter. That “Friends” season finale...
or
CALLER: This call is for Edwin.
ME: Yeah, this is Edwin. I’ll take the extended warranty and, as for the Acura, I don’t think I plan on paying any more on it. You can try and come and take it. I dare ya’! Bring it on, sucker!

Hopefully, it won’t resort to this. Hopefully, the calls for Edwin will simply dry up as I slowly make my way off the various phone lists I have been glued to.
I have been fairly nice so far, so there is no reason to think vengeful telemarketers are out to get me. Perhaps there is a hint of honor among the horde. If not, at least I’ll have a nice emu-ostrich discussion.