Two things of note happened this week, firstly I saw my friend quoted in a newspaper and text her out of excitement. The fact that she had changed her number without telling me didn't come as a massive surprise, after all I do drink far too much, and, when drunk I find that being drunk is THE best time to communicate via the medium of SMS. I also seem to have developed an issue that I can only describe as being fucking stupid, where I type out a message but when I go to send it, I inadvertently send it to the contact above or below the one I had intended. Honestly, it has got so bad that I've had to reorder contacts under daft naming conventions just so they aren't near potentially sensitive ones. Once I was having jovial drunken banter with a friend and instead of sending it to his mobile I sent it to his home number, immediately above it. The only problem was he didn't live at home anymore and his poor mother was awoken at around 2am by her home phone ringing. Realising that people only call at that time in emergency scenarios she raced to answer it and was then subsequently subjected to a sexually explicit verbal tirade by a computerised voice. I checked the papers the next day, worried in case Professor Stephen Hawking had been apprehended by the law for making nuisance calls. He hadn't, he'd just been beaten by his wife again.
So when I got a reply informing me I had the wrong number I apologised and vowed never to make the same mistake again. I then got another reply saying he'd had several calls from people he didn't know and that I should tell them it's not the right number. This level of stupidity intrigued me, the rest of the exchange went like this...
Me: You'd like me, a faceless entity that you don't know, to contact other people that you don't know and tell them not to call you, people that neither of us know, because it's a wrong number?
Him: I just thought you might have known them
Me: So of all the people in the world that you don't know, you thought I would be on conversing terms with the ones who called you?
Him: You must know some of them, just tell them it's the wrong number.
Me: Ok, which ones?!
Him: I don't know, they're your mates!
Obviously this isn't verbatim, but not because I'm paraphrasing, because he was a fucking retard and spoke in text language.
Secondly, I was leaving the 'greenroom' of a gig at the weekend, I put that in inverted comas because it was actually a storeroom. I also realise that I spelt 'comma' wrong, I was going to change it but then thought it was amusing. An inverted 'coma' - that's just being awake! I'm afraid your husband's been in a terrible accident, he's in an inverted coma - he's just lying on his bed listening to his favourite song over and over, I dunno what that's helping but he seems to be enjoying himself. Anyway, on the way out of the greenroom I attempted to bid the show manager farewell with a customary peck on the cheek. I don't think I've ever been as startled as I was with what happened next, and that includes the time at uni when I came home early and found my flatmate with his penis in the hoover. Getting sexual gratification from any hoover is weird, but when it's Henry the Hoover it's also gay. She reacted in a blind panic and jumped backwards into a corner! With humour being my only defense mechanism all I could do was mutter, 'Calm down love, it's alright! I was only saying goodbye. You've reacted like I just pushed you into a corner and tried to molest you!' - Now, lessons were learnt that night and I'd like to share them in an attempt to avoid anyone else from suffering a similar fate. If you ever find yourself in a similar situation, dimly lit room, attractive young girl... whose first language isn't English...don't use words like 'molest', it's only going to exacerbate the affair.
So while the week kicked-off with a text conversation you're only ever going to have once in your life, it also concluded with one, that I hope to only ever have once. In reply to 'How was the gig?' from the promoter, I found myself putting, 'Really nice thanks, cool crowd, acts all did really well and I didn't try to fuck your stage manager.'
I didn't put an 'x' at the end of it, it didn't seem appropriate.
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