Hai il numero sbagliato, dude.

I walk into the kitchen to talk to my mom the other day, and as we talk, the phone rings.  Mom picks it up.

"Hello? Uh... I'm sorry I don't understand..."

I tell her I'd be happy to take the call and try to talk to them, so she hands it to me, telling me that whoever it was told her to wait just a moment.  I take the phone, wait, and finally hear a voice.

Italian person:  Yes?  Ah, hello.  You call?

Me:  No, no, I didn't call you.

Italian person:  You did not-a call for appoint-a-ment-a?

Me:  No, I didn't call to make an appointment... What kind of appointment?

Italian person:  Ah, what-a city are you in?

Me:  Well, I'm in Rome, but I don't see how--

Italian person:  What is your street-a?

Me:  Who is this?

Italian person:  What is your street-a that-a you live on-a?

Me:  I'm not going to tell you where I live until you tell me who you are!

Mom walks up, looking at me quizzically.  She laughs as I tell the man that same thing several times.

Me:  *sigh*  Please tell me what kind of appointment you mean, so I can figure out who you are.

Italian person:  You don't-a have a appoint-a-ment-a?

Me:  I'm sorry, I really have no idea what you're talking about.

I then hung up.  I hate to hang up with people, but he seemed to be getting frustrated and a bit upset, and the fact that he was asking for my street quite relentlessly made me nervous.

What can you do?