The Texter

It was during the Thursday morning coffee when I hear the ding-a-ling from a cell phone. Not mine, the Missus, which I ignored as always. She retrieves the device from the bedroom to check the call and finds that someone has left her a text message. This is unusual because she doesn’t text and neither do I. To me, an actual voice is much more efficient. Texting reminds me of Morse Code, a skill I failed to master in the United States Navy. That statement alone should give you a clue as to old I actually am.

The Missus decodes the message (and I present all messages here exactly as they were received.)

“Is Christy there?”

Need I point out that no one in this humble abode goes by the name of Christy, unless there’s a new cat somewhere on the premises that I’ve yet to meet. A few minutes pass, then another ding-a-ling; another message.

“Tell Christy I am horny this morning.”

Enough of that. I dial the number at the top of the message and hear something to the effect of:

“This mailbox is full.”

Hmmm. Now, I’m being charged for these messages right? It costs money to send and receive text messages doesn’t it? Enough is enough. I laboriously type out a reply. Didn’t take me more than oh, five or six minutes tops.

“You are calling the wrong number. Stop calling.”

Almost immediately, another ding:

“Is this her roommate?”

If I’d had the patience to type “What part of wrong number don’t you understand you imbecile?” I would have, but I didn’t.

Ding: “Oh, this is her roommate.”

By now we have a clear picture of the intelligence of the texter don’t we?

Ding: “so tell her i need to talk to her. i am horny.”

Ding: Is she there. I meet her once awhile back at Jacklyns place.

So what we have here is an imbecile male, texting someone he doesn’t know, declaring his state of sexual arousal, requesting that his desires be passed on to a girl that he met once. My Gawd.

I reply. “I don’t know any Christy. You are calling the wrong number. Stop calling.” (how do the kids do this so fast?)

Well that should be the end of that.

Ding: “OK”

Seconds later. Ding: “I get her number from Jacklyn.”

Kid, do your really think I give a damn where you got Christy’s number from? Knock it off. (I didn’t have the energy to send that but that’s what I was thinking.”

Then another Ding: “Bye”

Yes, he actually sent the one word message, “Bye”. Polite kid. Dumber than a box of rocks, but polite.

Texting: It’s the way to go. I wonder if he would text me Christy's phone number?