Monday is getting a taste of my own medicine

I got prank called tonight. I don’t know how many times I’ve done that, so I didn’t dwell on it too much. I actually had to keep myself from laughing. It started out from a text message. It came from 417-350-9434 (yes, it’s the real number. Do with that what you will).

I don’t usually give my number out, so I was thinking that it might have been from someone I’ve lost touch with. Well, I should have known it wasn’t Captain Cronic (that black guy I shared the ciggaweed with that one night in that parking lot). 417 is not a Kansas City area code.

But the text sounded black (I’m sorry. I know how that sounds.) There were a couple “Who’s dis?” and “Where you be at?”… Yeah, so at one point the text asks if I’m gay. Yes, I am. Really? Yeah, really.

And then I get a phone call (from a blocked number—yeah, like I didn’t already have it from the text message). It sounded like I was talking to a 12 year old girl. She talks with me for a bit. I’m not sure why. Then a teenaged boy gets on the phone and asks me if I can get some weed (I answer no…). Then the little girl gets back on.

She professes her name is Ben, and then asks if I have a boyfriend; asks what my last name is, and then prompts me to ask her what hers is. It was Dover, by the way…Get it Ben Dover. Yeah, see that.

She left a voicemail when I didn’t answer my phone quick enough from another number professing her name was Colton. I have no clue what list I got on, but it’s whatever. I blocked the number and set my phone to vibrate. Have fun kids getting my voicemail all night.

P.S. I talked to Mr. Make Out over the weekend. He Facebooked me an “Um Hi.” I really don’t know why, but when I talked with him all he wanted to do was bitch about his family ditching him on Thanksgiving (he was probably drunk—wait, strike that, I hate to be that way). I didn’t have the heart to tell him mine was worse, or why.

Monday is getting a taste of my own medicine