party lines and photos
So, how bizarre is this?
We’ve been getting collect calls on our answering machine. From the jail. When we came home Sunday night we began calling every friend of ours that could possibly be or could know someone in jail. Cell phone, answering machine, cell phone, answering machine, ring, ring, ring until I was sure that somehow all of my friends got thrown in jail while I was out of town and I was the only one who could bail them all out.
I talked to my friend who was watching the house and she said she answered the phone one of the times that it was the collect call from the jail but she didn’t recognize the name so she didn’t accept the charges. She said the name and neither Eric nor I knew who he was.
We asked if it was on the main line or on Eric’s bachelor line that he uses to screen calls. I call it his bachelor line because he really hasn’t had that phone number in over two years (when he was living on his own). He’s reluctant to give it up, and so I tease him that it must be because he’s still waiting for that one girl to give him a call.
“Oh, here’s an old matchbook from like three years ago. What’s this? Eric? Eric…Eric…Eric… Hmmm, trying to remember who this guy must be is hurting my pretty, pretty face and making my long red hair itch. I guess I’ll just have to sit here on my firmly toned ass and cross my long long legs and just think about who this mestryious ‘Eric’ could be. Hmm. It’s hard to spell ‘mestryious.’ I don’t think I’m so good at it. Hmmm. Hmmm… wait a minute! I think that was the guy who could hum real well! Oh, I remember him. Tall and Polish and just what I’ve been waiting for all these lonely years. I remember thinking he was the one man who would probably respect my Porche and know what to do with my millions. Of course! Why didn’t I think of him sooner? I must call him now. I hope this number is still good, it’s been so long.”
There were no calls on Monday.
Yesterday, however there was a call on Eric’s Slut Line. I picked up the phone to tell AT&T we already use their service, or the Austin-American Statesman that not only do we get the paper I write for it, or tell VISA that we don’t need another card. Instead I got this:
“You have a collect call from the Travis County Jail from–““Tommy H—-, I like threeways, mostly.”
“To accept charges, press one. To deny charges, press two. To block this number from getting any more calls, press three.”
Oh, my God! THREE! THREE! THREE! I’m pressing three right now, mister!
And I hung up. So there it is. A new frontier in personal communication. Obscene collect calls from jail.
Eric’s bachelor line was disconnected today at his request.
Diane posted a variety of flattering and unflattering photos of me from the night of the one person show/monk show. I told her that first one was going to be horrible. I look like I just ate a bad egg. Sigh.
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