[The previous blog post (for July 29, 2011) is a transcript of a text conversation I had with a wrong number. This post will be an analysis of said conversation with the transcript reprinted here but interrupted by my thoughts and opinions of just what the hell we (the person to whom I conversed and I) said and maybe (maybe) why. If you haven’t read the July 29, 2011 post, you can do that now by going back a day, or not. You know what? Forget I said anything. You can do whatever the hell you want.
Exact typing has been represented here. When there are errors, you will see them. Most of the errors are contributed by the person to whom I’m “speaking.” And for issues of clarity, the wrong number will be referred to as a “she,” even though I know full well it could’ve been a dude. Every time I get a flirty text from someone I don’t know but who’s probably a woman, I think: “Hmm. Wonder if it’s a dude.”]
WRONG NUMBER: Hey!
ME: Don’t know who this is.
WRONG: Lol. Ash you just met me.
ME: No. I didn’t. What’s my name?
WRONG: Manuel! [At this point I turn to my friend Karl to help deal with this. If not for his encouragement, I would respond: “I’m not Manuel. You’re twenty-two (probably) and drunk. I’m forty-one and not drunk enough. Thanks for making me uncomfortable.” I seriously would say something like that. And even though it’s probably a drunk girl, what if it isn’t? Any text message sent from someone I don’t know is taken as an aggressive act. Karl encourages me to play along and lie.]
ME: Oh yeah! How’s it goin? Kinda drunk. [I’m not drunk.]
WRONG: Lol. I’m ash! Was w Mateo! [Weird. Because in Spanish my name’s Mateo. My grandmother would call me that.]
ME: Ooooh, right. You uh sexy and shit. [I feel absolutely filthy for texting that, and for telling you now that I texted that. But here’s what I assume: Manuel is a drunk and illiterate moron. So I try to text like one.]
WRONG: Lol Yeah you liked my boots that looked like doc’s. [I’m pretty sure she’s referring to Doc Martins, but I have to check with Karl for back-up. He concurs. And then I stand there and imagine what boots that look like Doc Martins look like and decide I would never think boots like that were cute.]
ME: I’d like to see you in JUST those doc’s. WHUUUUUUT?! [Perhaps the dumbest and grossest thing I’ve ever typed into my phone. My only attempt to save face is with the “WHUUUUUUT?!” For authenticity, I should probably omit the apostrophe in “I’d” because a dumb drunk guy probably ain’t gonna give a shit about apostrophes, but I don’t, because I’m hoping that she will see from my proper punctuation that I’m not Manuel and pick up on the fact that this is a wrong number. She doesn’t. It’s also at this point that I say to Karl: “What if it’s a cop?” Not “What if she’s a cop.” “What if it’s a cop.” Karl laughs and says: “Cops don’t do that.” I decide he’s right.]
WRONG: OuLol of course you would, buddy! [“Buddy.” One of the least sexy words ever. Why don’t you just say “Pal” or “Chum?”]
ME: J/K. I’m totally gay and stuff. [Karl suggests this. I’m fine with it because I’m hoping it’ll shut her up and I can go on with my sexless night of not drinking too much at the two parties I’m going to. And it seems to work because she doesn’t respond for eight hours and twenty-seven minutes.]
[Eight hours and twenty-seven minutes later.] [This refers to the passage of time known as sleep.]
WRONG: Lol okiedokie. [Just about all of her responses contain “lol.” Even eight hours and twenty-seven minutes later, early in the morning, she’s still typing “lol.” Although I have to say, “okiedokie” is a pretty funny response to “I’m totally gay and stuff.”]
ME: Not really. [And here’s where I have no excuse. Here is where if I really wanted to get rid of her, I could’ve done it. But I don’t. I think there are three things going on: 1.) I don’t want her to think I’m gay. I’ll admit it. Stupid. I know. 2.) This could, at the very least, be fun. 3.) I have no excuse for not engaging in this. There is no wife. There is no kid. There is no house. There are no chores. Other than my all-encompassing unemployment which threatens to destroy everything I’ve established for myself professionally for fifteen years, I have nothing pressing elsewhere that should keep me from some harmless fun. Why wouldn’t I just respond? (That last bit was written by the Devil.)]
WRONG: So confused!
ME: How was the rest of your night? [Now I’m as bad as she is.]
WRONG: Good, I passed out quick, lol.
ME: Roofied again, huh? [What a creep. Can you tell Karl isn’t around to help me make it funny anymore?]
WRONG: Yep. Damn roofies. Get me every time.
ME: We should have a roofie party. [I’m a shitty person.]
WRONG: Why are they called roofies? Everybody always end up on the floor! Bahahahaha
ME: You heard of that new dance mix called “Raise The Roofie?” [If you ask me, this is my most pathetic contribution to the conversation. Because now I’m doing jokes from my stupid fuckin’ act in a conversation with a human being. I am a shitty person.]
ME: It’s got a pretty good beat, but by the end you don’t know where you are and you’re crying. [Shut up, you fuck.]
WRONG: You so cleverrrrrrr
ME: Oh that ain’t nothin’. [I suck.]
ME: What you doin’ tonight? [I still suck. I don’t know anyone I can have these kinds of conversations with. That’s why I’m doing this.]
WRONG: No clue yet!
ME: Whattaya wanna do? [I am a piece of shit.]
WRONG: Idk, probably hanging out at my boyfriend’s house (mateo’s roommate) they tend to have cookouts/drink a lot on Saturday nights [She’s got a boyfriend! Finally! Something I can take a judgmental, moralizing stand with! That’s when I truly shine!]
WRONG: LOL don’t you remember asking how I knew Mateo and I said “he lives with my boyfriend”
ME: Why you be textin’ bros you just met when you got a boyfriend? [Do you have any idea how much nerve it takes for me to seriously type the word “bros” without being a sarcastic jerk?]
WRONG: Bc I like to talk to people. Make friends. Be friendly in general
ME: Show your boyfriend our conversation here and let’s see how friendly he is. [I’d actually like to see that. Really. I would.]
WRONG: Hey now. Don’t be mean. [This makes me wanna be mean.]
ME: What would your boyfriend think. Seriously. What do you think he’d think? [Missed a question mark there. Probably because I’m starting to get angry.]
WRONG: In my defense, you did say you were gay, my friend. [Her weakest defense. She was being flirty and suggestive way before Karl suggested I joke that I was gay.]
WRONG: He wouldn’t care. I’m allowed to talk to people. [Whenever I hear that sentiment expressed, I always wish that I had the boyfriend’s number or knew who he was to tell him about what his girlfriend is doing. Because I would! I promise you I absolutely would!]
ME: That was after I said I’d like to see you in only your boots. And I was kidding. Your boyfriend’s not Chris Brown, is he? [Creepshow.]
WRONG: Lol nope. [Still with the lol’s. We’re talking about her cheating potential, and she’s still typing “lol.”] Not chris brown. But if you prefer to speak to only single ladies I shall bid you adieu. I enjoyed your clever roofie jokes. [She uses “lol” and “adieu” in the same text. Odd. And that roofie joke? Five years old.]
ME: Show your boyfriend the part where I say: “You sexy and shit” and then you say: “Lol Yeah you liked my boots that looked like doc’s” and… [Pathetic, lonely, impotent anger.]
ME:…then I say: “I’d like to see you in just those docs’ WHUUUUUT?!” and then you say: “OuLol of course you would, buddy!” [I’m typing faster and faster here.]
WRONG: Dude, that’s just how I talk. Sorry to offend. [Wanna hear something obnoxious? It’s at this point that I honestly start to think that I can make her a better girlfriend.]
ME: This isn’t Manuel, by the way. My name isn’t Manuel. You got the wrong number.
WRONG: Hahahahahahaha touche! Whats your name then? [She knew the entire time she wasn’t talking to Manuel.]
ME: You know anyone named Manuel who has such perfect punctuation? [What the hell kind of potentially racist bullshit did I mean by that?]
WRONG: I don’t know anyone named Manuel that I know of. [Well-written.] Except, perhaps the person I thought you were. And since you are not he, I know now what sort of punctua—
WRONG: —tion he uses. [Now she’s trying to appear smarter than she is. It’s almost cute.]
ME: Your poor boyfriend. [If you narrowed all of this shit down into a theme, and summed up my attitude regarding this conversation, it would be with this line right here.]
WRONG: Eh. He knows I’m batshit and loves me anyways. So your name isn’t Reuben either? Drunk me confuses names. [If I were her boyfriend—and thank the Fates that I’m not—and I were to read this entire exchange, no response from her would hurt as much as this one. She says: “Eh.” I say: “Your poor boyfriend” and she says: “Eh.” That’s her response. And then, within the same text, she still tries to ascertain my name. This is her most hurtful contribution, by far. But fortunately, her boyfriend is the most understanding boyfriend ever, right? I mean, according to her, and we all know how trustworthy she is, he’d be fine with all of this.]
ME: My name’s Xavier. [Yup.]
WRONG: Are you bald and in a wheelchair? Do you have mutant mind powers? [I just like the name Xavier. I don’t give a shit about X-Men.]
ME: Aren’t you curious what happened to Manuel? [Champagne, you furious, furious man.]
WRONG: Not really. I’m now thoroughly amused by this conversation. And apparently his name is Reuben, not Manuel. [The more suggestive and coy she gets, the sadder I get.]
ME: How do you know? [Now I’m starting to think the other people she’s mentioned are in the room with her.]
WRONG: Mateo told me. & heather.
ME: Oh yeah! Heather! (No idea who Heather is.)
WRONG: She smallish and red headed. Was with me last night. All of this is completely irrelevant if you are in fact a balding mutant.
WRONG: She is*
ME: Your attention to typing has improved since finding out I’m not Manuel. [Should’ve brought it back to the boyfriend.]
WRONG: Also since now I’m actually awake, and now in a hungover sleep-haze
WRONG: Not* dammit.
WRONG: Also, you made a punctuation crack, and I felt I needed to step up my punctuation game to compete.
ME: Hey, I gotta go. Bye. [Something I should’ve said at the beginning.]
WRONG: Okiedoie. Nice to never have met you. [Kinda funny, actually.]
If you got a boyfriend, act like it. If you got a girlfriend, act like it.