Remember back before we all had a mobile phone implanted in our head and used the interwebz to communicate every single brain fart 24/7? Now we twitter when we pass gas in hopes that it amuses the masses. What... that's just me? Well that's embarrassing.
Anyhow, do you remember when a PDA was something that made you uncomfortable if it was overused in public by friends - or worse, by strangers on the bus? These days a PDA just provides amusement or frustration. Like when you see some wired idiot chick walk into a lamppost because she was all caught up in twitting that she just grabbed grande caffe latte from the rudest little punk ever, and she needs to share it with the world. Because I never do anything like that
We are so instantaneous these days, I find it kind of funny remembering the excitement I could barely contain the Christmas Day I received an answering machine, one that used a microcassette *ooh ahhh cool 80s technology*. I could leave the house and not miss my calls! WE WERE GETTING SO CLOSE TO THE SPACE 1999 ERA, I could feel it in my the seat of my acid washed jeans.
Not sure why I have to say this but for the record, I actually never owned anything acid washed.
We now live in an era where you if you want to be found, you can be which is something I'm very thankful didn't exist when I was in my twenties. GPS back than was probably just a STD.
Anyhow, when I was scraping the recesses of my poor overtired brain, trying to remember the details of the apartment from the Truffle post, I for no particular reason, suddenly remembered a weird incident that was creepy and pathetic. And it made me think about how it would have panned out in this day and age of rocket ships, robot vacuums, and tiny portable telephone machines.
So begins my next rambling story:
After surviving the aforementioned small demented historical group of Katie's roommates from hell, I moved into a place on my own. I lived in that same tiny split level studio for many years and loved having my space - albeit teeny tiny - to myself. Though during times of extra creepiness, like the story soon to follow, it would have been nice to have someone around. Thank goodness for security buildings is all I can say.
At that time, I had a friend, who I will call Carver for no other reason than I like the name, and he was from a super large family. Carver had over twenty siblings, and being one of the youngest, he often hung out with his nephews that were older than him or the same age. The ones I met, lived in the same tiny town and they loved to visit their big city Uncle. Some would come down for weekends to party and every so often, I'd join in on the fun. Well evidently, one of his nephews, who I will call Blaine, took a shining to me and decided he was going to try and woo me.
So one weekend, he came down from his rural home to
I remember thinking "who is this?" when I listened to the first message, which went something like this:
"Hi... it's Blaine... I'm in town this weekend... I was wondering if you wanted to catch a movie this afternoon... I'll try calling you back in an hour..."
Then the next message:
"Hi, it's Blaine again. Remember me? I'm Carver's nephew and I thought maybe we could catch that movie. I'll try back in an hour...."
"Hey, it's me again, I'm just across from your place and thought I'd try while I was passing by... I'll try again in an hour..."
"I'm at the theatre, I bought two tickets so I'll just wait out front here, that way we don't need to wait in line"
"Hey there, I wonder where you are? I wish you'd answer..."
"Look, I've called a bunch of times, why aren't you answering your phone? Where are you?"
This went for the rest of the messages, he was sounding pretty ticked, and way more than a little stalkerish. Basically these calls spanned more than a twelve hour period. Which is pretty damn wacky doodle. And totally qualifiies as creepy in my books. Plus, how the hell did he know where I lived?
I remember being stunned and totally freaked out. Like someone was watching me and ohmyholyfing I need a knife. Calling Carver was the next thing I did. He didn't even know his nephew was in town that weekend and he was super apologetic when I calmly told him what I had just listened to. I specifically remember I couldn't believe how calm I was, because I also felt like screaming at him and letting all my terrified anger out on him. But instead, despite feeling stunned, I calmly - in an almost threatening tone - told him that if I ever heard from Blaine ever again, in any way - ever - period - I would do something about it.
What exactly I would do, I had no idea, but I was really into Sam Peckinpah movies at that time. My imagination probably ran wild.
And of course I know I shouldn't joke, but that is how I deal with things. And I'd be lying if I said this was the only time this happened to me, or was even the most threatening. Regardless, I was completely creeped out and really pissed off. Pissed off because when crap like this happens, it's threatening - there's always that "what if I end up the story of the week on Dateline?" Pissed off because "How freakin' dare he go all creep on my answering machine?" Pissed off because how dare he make me think twice before answering the phone (because Hello, call display was still a rare feature on phones back in the olden days).
I was tempted to change my number after that but somehow I was pretty sure he'd never call again. And I was right, he never did call again as far as I know.
But when I thought of this story recently, I wondered how that would have panned out in present day. You know if I was twenty something now, I would have had a cell phone glued to my ear, and that makes me wonder if he would have been able to be all creepy to me more. Somedays I hate being so accessible and in truth, I rarely turn on my phone. In fact, I have no idea where my phone is right now. And honestly, somedays I wonder if it was incidents like this, that made me hate the phone so much.
I dunno, this was a ramble down memory lane that made me wonder... anyone else have a similiar story? Lots of freaks out there. And for once, I'm not talking about me (or you).