My Phone’s Secret Identity…

So, I was issued a cell phone for this job.

Rather than take over the phone that the current assistant has, it was easier to issue me one of my own.

There were two previous owners: Piyush (sp?) and Chantal…

Piyush has creditors calling like mad….

Chantal…has an interesting life.

My first call for Ms. Chantal was from a woman with a French accent. Her mother needed a bath and she wanted to book Chantal. I explained that Chantal was no longer available at this number. She was disappointed because she usually booked Chantal to give her mother a bath every two weeks.


(sidebar: can we just talk about how perfect Amber’s make up is in this gif? But I digress).

I received a similar call from a different person a week later. I assumed that Chantal was some personal support worker and shrugged it off.

Then I got a call from a dude on a Friday evening. He was shocked to find out she was no longer available. Apologized and rang off. A few minutes later, I got a call from another guy and when I answered “Alice speaking” he got confused and hung up. Then I got a text from a guy in California:

“Baby it’s me Jake Wells”

The first hit on google for Jake Smith?

About five minutes after Jake, I got a text from someone in Alberta. All it said was “Chantal” (that’s how I know how her name is spelled)

Then, one Saturday night when I was actually home and asleep… I got a call from Manitoba. It sounded like a party in the background. A young kid with a vaguely Trini accent is on the line. I say “hello?” and he responds with “Auntie Chantal? Are you out?”

I explain I’m not Auntie Chantal and ask them to not call back.

Last week. I received a call from a different man (local number) with a vaguely Trini accent. He asked for Chantal. I explained that Chantal no longer has this number and that it was a work phone. He then said “yuh not going to give me her next number?” (full Trini accent and quite indignant about this).

I said “I don’t KNOW her. how would I know her number?”

“You said she has a new number.”

“Look. This is a work phone. I don’t have her number. People have called for her and I’ve told them this.”

“Oh. So she’s getting lots of calls, eh? How many people is calling for she?”

Click.

Today I got a call from a Mr. Williams. He sounded vaguely African.

He wanted to know if Chantal had received the cheque for $7500 that he sent. Because she has yet to confirm receipt.

Seven thousand five hundred dollars…?

Well hey…

I then (reluctantly) explained that I was not Chantal. And no…

I don’t know her number…

I can’t tell her when she gets home…

I can’t give you a different number…

I can’t confirm if she got your cheque

Him: “WHY WON’T YOU TELL HER TO CALL ME?!?”

Me: (standing at the corner of Yonge and Bloor) BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW WHO SHE IS GUY! SO IF SHE HAS YOUR CHEQUE, I DON’T KNOW, AIIRIGHT?

The Vagina Dialogues…

So. Yesterday I’m walking home from the new gig and feeling groovy.

I decide, after a week of eating healthy to have some chicken wings from Popeye’s because…yes.

I spot a fine looking brotha and realize… I KNOW HIM.

Picture it. Toronto. 4 years ago…

We know each other through people in the city. Bump into each other at things like Manifesto and rooftop parties. We’d kind of flirt. We had each other’s numbers. One day he randomly texts me and we text chat the whole day. I have plans with a girlfriend that night.

2 am. My girl is wasted. She’s lost her phone (possibly at McD’s), and needs to sleep on my couch. It’s when she’s getting ready to sleep that she realizes she doesn’t have her phone. I now head back out to McD’s to retrace her steps. Dude calls…CALLS…invites me to an after hours and I had to curve him…

The texts trickle off after that… we lose touch.

Le sigh…

Yesterday, I find out he’s opened his own business…. In his own space downtown. He says twice in our curb side convo “you look good”… I tell him I’m going to be in the area of his new establishment tomorrow (true, I was having brunch 5 mins away). He won’t be there though. He says “take my number…” I do. I give him mine. I tell him that I’ll check out the spot post brunch and follow up. He points out that the prices listed won’t be the price I’ll pay.

Oh. I get a discount?

Yeah (smiles)

Oh. That. Smile.

What’s the catch…?

(smiles)

Those are our parting words.

I’m pleased. Then…I remember.

He used to work with Le Ex...like same company/division as Le Ex. The circle of people I know him from … all people who are friends with Le Ex.

I’m going to see HOW close they were. Because.

I know it’s not logical or fair to hold myself in Judgement since a) I didn’t know Le Ex back then and b) I haven’t been in touch with this guy in over 4 years (like – not even FB friends…I even thought he had moved), so it’s not like he would’ve even come up in conversation with Le Ex, because this dude left that company years ago.

But I would know. And that would bother me. Like I’m violating the code.

As I said to T last night…if I find out that I wasted a coochie credit on Le Ex…

Am I being too hard on myself?
My vagina is threatening to leave me. 

She can’t take this neglect anymore.