I know more than I should about a guy named Brett.

I say that because I've never met the fellow. I have no idea who he is and I'm sure he doesn't know me.

But we're connected in a modern-day way: A cell phone number.

It seems dear Brett was the previous caretaker of my current ten digits. I only acquired them a few months ago (I was compelled to get a new phone after a nasty collision between my cell and a cup of coffee that left my phone comatose and unresponsive). I opted to get a new number, too.

With the new number came the phone calls desperately seeking Brett. And thus I was inadvertently made privy to the odd minutia that make up the life of a stranger.

Por ejemplo: I know that Brett gets his prescriptions filled at CVS. I know that he drives an Oldsmobile Cutlass and gets car parts from VIP.

I think I also have a good inkling as to why he opted to forfeit his old phone number.

Blame Dr. Vinyl.

See, for every call I get for Brett, I get two for Dr. Vinyl. (I was dismayed to discover that Dr. Vinyl is not a comic book villain who wraps his victims to near suffocation in a layer of imitation leather. He's not a rescuer of old records, either, or a physician catering to the employees of strip clubs.)

Dr. Vinyl is an auto and multi-surface repair company. There apparently used to be a franchise in Maine and that franchise used to have my phone number. (Hark! I've figured it out! And Mom said watching those Colombo reruns would never benefit me.)

The shop has closed its doors, though it couldn't be for a lack of business judging from the calls I get.

My coworker suggested I take advantage of the phone number mix up and start charging Dr. Vinyl's competitors a referral fee.

Or there's always the option of opening my own Dr. Vinyl:

"Dr. Vinyl offers a great business opportunity. If you are tired of punching the time clock, exhausted from your bosses outlandish requests, you have the option to become part of an amazing franchise system." [From the Dr. Vinyl site]

Goodbye outlandish requests from my boss, hello Dr. Vinyl franchise!

At the very least, I should get some cash from the Doctor just for writing this blog entry.

So maybe Brett got sick of the calls.

Or maybe Brett ran the Dr. Vinyl franchise in Maine and decided to focus his energy on refurbishing his Cutlass instead.

The speculation could go on for days. Until then, Brett, I wish you well, wherever you are.

And anyone who currently find him/herself in need of a job, it seems Maine is in dire need of a car and multi-surface repair specialist.

So there's that.