Reaching the End of My Last Nerve: or, child sacrifice at work

From a conversation I had earlier this morning, at work:

*phone rings*
Me: Good morning, ____ Gallery.
*ambient noise on the other end of the line, no voice*
Me: Hello? ...Hello?
Guy: *after more silence* ...Oh, hi.
Me: Can you hear me?
Guy: Yes...
Me: Hello...
Guy: Who is this?
Me: This is Lynsey at the ____ Gallery.
Guy: Oh.
Me: ...can I help you?
Guy: Well somebody called me from there.
Me: Ok, there are about 25 people at this office. Do you have any idea who it might have been?
Guy: Oh!
*silence*
Guy: It might have been M____.
Me: Well, she works at our other location. But I can put your call through from here.
Guy: Ok.
Me: ...can I tell her who's calling?
Guy: Oh, yeah, it's P____.

...now. Who in the HELL calls someone without: A) being prepared for someone to pick up and say hello on the other end, B) considering who it is that they're calling, or C) being prepared to identify him or herself? Obviously this guy, but really, what KIND of person does this?

Am I supposed to telepathically know who you are, what you want, and who you need to talk to? If so, that would be bad for you, because by virtue of knowing telepathically what a douchebag you are, I would also (in my version of an X-Men mutant power world) be able to telekinetically strangle you, thus saving the gene pool from another line of morons.

Yesterday I got so annoyed with the borderline handicapped people calling me every thirty seconds that once as I was picking up the phone, I had to take a moment to remember how to answer, because I almost said: "I will sacrifice your children to my dark god" in a spooky goth voice instead of saying: "Good afternoon, ____ Gallery."

This isn't good. I can't keep up the happy smiley voice much longer.