A couple of friends and I like to play a game where we mess with strangers through text messaging. We’ll each give each other a phone number from our phone that the other doesn’t have, and start from there.
Every day this week, I’ll be posting one of those text interactions. Today, you get two, because I won’t be around on Tuesday. We’ll end on Friday with the series of messages that almost led to my arrest.
Aug. 16th. 11:04pm. 919 area code.
Greg: It’s 14 fucking degrees in here!
919: Where are you and who is this?
Greg: In my freezer. It’s Jake. They put me in here as a joke and now I can’t get out. I think they left.
919: Jake who?
Greg: Jake Sanders. My phone is about to die. Call Kim and tell her to let me the fuck out.
919: I think you have the wrong number, good luck getting ot of the freezer.
Greg: Can’t even eat the fucking food in here because it’s fucking frozen.
919: Who are you trying to text?
618 area code.
Oct 4, 12:34 am Greg: Just want you to know that your bro just stole $170 from me. Little pissed right now.
Oct 4, 1:19 am Greg: And now my girl broke up with me because I don’t have any money to take her out for her birthday tomorrow. I hope he’s happy.
Oct 4, 3:18 am Greg: My girl came back and she won $200 at Bingo, so we’re cool now. Not even made about the $170. (If he wants to bring it back, though, I’ll take it. Kind of want to buy that Beatles Rock Band set.)