Oh my god. Oh my god.
Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod.
I have done what is possibly the stupidest thing I’ve done in my entirety as an adult. Seriously. I can’t even believe how stupid I am.
So yesterday.
I was sitting at work, having just figured out an exceptionally hard problem that has been beating me up and calling me ‘Nancy’ all frigging week. Turns out it was Bill Gates’ fault. Yep. That rat bastard anyway. He’s given me more stress this week than any other multimillionaire corporate genius. But I digress. I was feeling all kind of beat up and pouty because I couldn’t fix the problem without rewriting Windows 2000 (Oh my god I am such a geek for even having such thoughts) and my forehead was wrinkling up in a permanent stress wrinkle, the kind I cannot even relax without serious contemplation.
So I started thinking about my father.
I’m sure your head is whipping around right now and going ‘What? Weetabix was not the product of immaculate conception?’ because I don’t really talk about him much, not here and not in life in general. Mostly because it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Essentially, he’s an asshole. We’re ‘estranged’, and have been for most of my life. I last saw him when I was 21 and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him since I was four-years-old. Every attempt I’ve made to talk to him is blocked by his wife, a trailer trash whore whom I refer to as my Wicked Step-Monster. I don’t blame her completely, although I dislike her immensely. But the man is 55-years-old’ he’s had access to a phone in the last 25 years.
So, for whatever reason, maybe because I was feeling beaten up by technology or feeling stupid or whatnot, I’m not entirely certain. I wanted to hear his voice. I just felt like saying ‘Hi, how are you doing, did you know I graduated with honors? Did you know I got married three years ago?’
And before I could really consider the stupidity of my actions, I dialed his number.
Almost immediately, the Step-Monster picked up. ‘Hello?’
I almost shit. I had forgotten that she was the only person who ever answered the phone if she was home. I really didn’t want to talk to her. So I hung up. Oh my god, I had just prank called my own father. I don’t know what I had been thinking. But at least I hadn’t done anything markedly stupid.
Phew.
Then my phone rang.
I looked at the caller id and it was their number. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. Luckily, they didn’t know where I worked, to my knowledge.
I panicked. I picked up the line and then hung it up.
It rang again. Their number. I swear to God it had that same ominous quality as the ringing phone in a horror movie, the phone that won’t stop ringing and you eventually find out that the killer is in the house. God she was freaking paranoid! And I could just see her all fixated, dialing long distance several times to find out who called and hung up on her.
I decided that I’d just let it ring. I wouldn’t answer it. She’d give up eventually. It rang four times and then stopped.
Then I realized.
Voice mail.
A criminal mastermind, I am not.
Anguished, I screamed ‘AAAAAAARRRGGHHH!!’ and scared the cleaning people in my office. A million thoughts ran through my mind. What if I quickly logged into my voice account and deleted the outgoing message’ the message which stated my name and department and how late I was working that day. But it was too late. The minute the phone bumped to mail, she was listening to my outgoing message. I was so busted.
I cradled my head in my hands and moaned. My stupid clueless head.
Then the message indicator started blinking like a telltale heart. I logged on quickly and got the message ‘Hello’. I don’t know who called but someone from this number called me and I don’t know no Weety Bixa so I guess I’ll try back later.’
Oh my god. She didn’t know my married name. And I had apparently slurred my name in the morning (the affects of all the fat-laden treats I had consumed, undoubtedly). While that was somewhat disturbing in itself, it meant that she wasn’t sure if the line belonged to THAT Weetabix, the spurn of her father’s loins, or some generic wrong number Weetabix.
Then my phone rang immediately again. And I knew it was because she wanted to listen to that message again. Now normal people would have just shrugged and hung up. Not the Step-Monster. And she’s such a paranoid nutjob that she’d obsessively call it a million times, long distance, to try to process it in her little hamster-in-an-exercise-wheel driven brain. And she’d probably play it for my father too. I was going to have to help her process it.
I cringed and answered the phone ‘Technical Support’
‘Who is this?’
‘This is Technical Support’
‘Yeah, but who are you?’
My brain scrambled ‘Natalie.’ (thank you, Throcky)
‘Well, Natalie, does a Weety Bixa work there?’
‘There is a Weety Bixa who works here, yes’ I’m sitting at her desk for the late shift.’
God, I hate lying. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I was just digging myself a deeper hole.
‘Is she married?’
‘Um’. I’m not sure’ she’s a day person’ I think so’ I THINK so.’ I had an uncertain but helpful voice for this.
‘Someone called this number and then hung up. And I called back and got that voice mail.’
I had to give her some kind of reason.
‘Oh, that might have been me. I’m sorry. I was dialing into {a corporation that is near their town} with the computer and I heard someone answer, so I dropped connection before I hurt your ears with the modem sound.’ Not that you could actually do that’ but she didn’t know that and it sounded plausible.
‘What number were you dialing?’
I quickly repeated her number, exchanging a 6 for a 3.
She cut me off’ ‘You dialed the wrong number!’
‘Yes, I see that now’ I mistyped it into the computer. I’ve got it on the screen in front of me. I’m sorry. Did I interrupt your dinner?’
‘Nah. And where are you located?’
In retrospect, I should have said a different town in my area code, but I couldn’t think that fast.
‘Green Bay.’
‘I knew it. I says to myself that had to be a Green Bay area code. I remember them things. My family is from Green Bay.’
‘Oh really? What a coincidence!’ And the Oscar goes to’
‘Yah, isn’t it though? So you were calling {name of big corporation near their town}?’
‘Yes. To download some marketing data from their computer.’ Because when you’re lying, you tend to give too much information. Here’s proof.
‘That must be why we get so many weird calls. We’s always getting weird calls.’
‘Does it sound like a computer trying to connect?’ That’s Natalie for you’ helpful as can be.
‘YEAH!’
‘Then it’s probably stores trying to call in to get their data. Not us, though, we hardly ever call.’ Shut up Natalie! Shut up!
‘Yah, that must be it then. Weird.’
‘Yes. Well’ again’ I’m very sorry about disturbing you.’
‘Yah, okay. That’s all right.’
‘Bye.’ You hell demon.
‘Yah. Bye then.’
And it was over.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god!
I think there must be something broken in my brain that I am compulsed to do such things. I quickly changed my voice mail to only say ‘Technical Support’. And then went into a bathroom and beat my head against the wall until it was time to leave.
I am so going to hell.
