Since it’s finals week and I really shouldn’t be spending time writing for something other than school, I’ll leave you with this random text exchange with a stranger this weekend:
Unknown LA Number: Hola stranger
Me (in my head): Shoot! I must have deleted this person’s number from my phone and now I’m going to seem like a big jerk.
Me: Don’t hate me, but who is this?
ULAN: Me hate you?! lol… it’s Stephanie
Me (in my head): (trying to recall) Stephanie… Stephanie…
Me (to my roommates): Do I know a Stephanie?
Them: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Me: (back to the text message) Stephanie who?
ULAN: (Something in Spanish, in which I only understood “tengo”, “fb” (the universal language), and “edith”)
Me: (confused and realizing that this is the wrong number) Who do you think this is?
ULAN: Jose
Me: Nope. Sorry. I am a female and I live in Chicago. You’ve got the wrong number.
ULAN: Oh.
Aaaaaand…. Scene.
Jose and his phone, free from Stephanie's pestering.
Whenever random things like this happen, I like to make up stories about the strangers involved. In this scenario, poor Stephanie was played by Jose. They met, they flirted, maybe they made out and then he gave her a made up number, my number. I’m on your side, Stephanie. You can always text if you need someone to cry to.
The Jobless Wonder 