True story from the early days of mobile phones when not everybody had them.
I got on a train at Manchester and before we moved a big chap got on, took out his brick, and dialled.
"Get me George."
"Well where the hell is he?"
"Tell him to ring the moment he gets in! Whats that? My number? Yes, he has it, oh well, here it is anyway" and gives his number.
Just as we reach Stockport his phone rings and he grabs it.
"George? George? GEORGE?". Grunts. Nobody there.
Five minutes later the phone rings again.
"GEORGE!!". Nobody there.
And so it goes on every five minutes, and he is getting more and more angry.
Outside Milton Keynes the phone rings again and it is George, and he gets a bollocking and some jobs to do, and then the phone falls silent.
But I had spotted the chap opposite me who had scribbled down his number and had his phone on the seat next to him with a newspaper over it, and was ringing him, and ringing him, and ringing him, just to wind him up and piss him off!