The Rumor

In the summer of 2012, the girl of my dreams was dating my good friend. It was horrible. I couldn't be around Rashaell without feeling guilty for liking her, and I couldn't be around Landon without feeling jealous that he was dating her. The worst times were when I was around both of them together. It was a time in life that would seemingly never end. But it would end, and it would end a lot sooner than I thought.

     It happened one day while sitting in the living room. My mother, sister Hope, my dad, and I were all sitting around when I heard the greatest rumor ever. My mom was looking at her computer when she looked up to me and asked, "Did Landon and that girl you work with break up or something?"

     "What?!" I said, looking up quickly.

     "I just saw on Facebook that Landon is 'in a relationship' and it isn't with Rashaell."

     I stopped for a moment to compose myself before I spoke again. "Oh?" I said, forcing a disinterested  and unexcited voice.

     "That's what it looks like," said my mother, "Hey, you know what? You should ask her out. She's cute and seems nice."

     "Nah," I said, trying to keep the disinterested act going.

     "Yeah, why would he want Landon's sloppy seconds, anyway?" Said Hope.

     "Whoa!" I said defensively, "I wouldn't call her sloppy seconds."

     "Then ask her out."

     "Maybe I will," I thought,  "Maybe I will."

The Worst Time to Wear a Hitler Mustache

As I have mentioned before, I was home schooled as a kid. However, that doesn't mean that we didn't do social things. For example, once a month a bunch of home school families would get together for socials like field trips or Wax Museums. For those of you that don't know, I am not referring to a literal museum of wax figurines. I am talking about an event where all the students would dress as historical figures and give a speech about their lives. It was at this that my next story takes place.

     Whenever I had to pick a historical figure to portray, I always liked to think a little outside the box. While other kids were George Washingtons, Thomas Jeffersons, and Nepoleons; I was being people like Zeus and Paul McCartney wearing his Sgt. Peppers uniform. But probably the most original idea I had was to be Charlie Chaplin and present my entire speech in the form of a silent movie. However, I couldn't just dress as Mr. Chaplin, I had to dress has his most famous character - The Little Tramp.

This wasn't a bad thing. I rather like the idea of dressing as the Little Tramp. I thought it would be fun. However, not three seconds after I don my garb of the greatest film maker of the silent movie era, I see Landon walk through the door and immediately after him, Rashaell. That's when I realized. . . I looked like a moron.

     The worst part, though was that I had misplaced my hat and cane. Without them I went from Charlie Chaplin to Adolf Hitler.

     I ducked and hid from Rash and went in search of my hat and cane. Along the way, I kept running into some of the parents and grandparents of the other students who kept asking me questions like, "Who are you supposed to be? Hitler?" After a while I got so sick of correcting them that I just started saying, "Yep, pretty much." A few people were taken aback by that, but at least it shut them up so I could continue my search.

     Then from behind, I heard a familiar voice say, "Nash? Is that you?" I turn around to see Rashaell.

     "Hey, I didn't know you were here." I lied.

     "Yeah, I came with Landon." She replied, "Who are you supposed to be? Charlie Chaplin?"

     I looked at her for a second, at bit surprised that she guessed right. "You are unbelievably cool." I said, "You wouldn't believe how many people have been asking me if I'm Hitler."

     "It was obvious to me. I mean, who would dress as Hitler anyway?"

     In the conversation that followed, I realized something: it didn't matter if I looked like a moron in front of Rashaell. I mean, she was dating Landon, that means she must love people who look like morons (yeah I know, low blow. But I was there, I had to go for it.) At any rate, I figured that even if I do look like a moron sometimes, I shouldn't have to hide that from her. If I ever get her to like me in the same way, I want her to like me for who I am. The Nerdy moron who dresses like Charlie Chaplin.

Flush

Why do bad things happen to good people? Well, because people (good or bad) are stupid. We will do incredibly stupid things that lead to consequences. Some morons will brush their teeth before they eat and consequently, everything tastes like a minty version of their food. Mint flavored orange juice, mint flavored pancakes, mint flavored lasagna, mint flavored pie, and even mint flavored toothpaste. Where does the mint end?! Some people wake up in the morning, decide to not wash themselves or put on appropriate clothing, and go to Wal-mart. They later end up on peopleofwalmart.com. Some morons think that taping cardboard wings to their arms and jumping off a building will give them the power of flight. In reality, it just gives them higher insurance premiums. Some people switched from Facebook to Google+ and are now very lonely. Some people grow mullets. . . that's a punishment in and of itself. Some nincompoops fall for their friend's girlfriend. Those same nincompoops will leave their phones too close to the edge of the bathroom sink where it will fall into the toilet. . .

     It was the morning after I got Rashaell's phone number. I woke up at 6:00 a.m. to get ready for work and went to the bathroom to start getting ready. Now, I'm a person who loves baths. LOVES them. So I specifically got up two hours before work because I figured it would give me some extra soak time. The thing is; that early in the morning, I don't want to fully wake myself up by turning on all the lights. So I took my bath in the dark and used my cellular talking device as an alarm to make sure I got out in time. This was a recipe for disaster. I got out of the tub and moved over to where my phone was blasting "I Like It" by Foxy Shazam. I reach out for it in the dark and bump it with my hand. Seconds later I hear a "glunk!" I reach over and turn on the lights to find my phone sitting that the bottom of my toilet bowl.

     I wasn't too worried about this at first. After all, it was just a simple flip phone. It could be replaced easily enough. But then it hit me. Rashaell's number was on that phone and I still had to text her the next week's schedule. How was I supposed to text it to her without a phone? There was only one option I could think of. The second I got off work that day, I grabbed the schedule and picked up the phone behind customer service. I located the phone number provided before her name and dialed. After a few rings, she picked up. "Hello?" she said.

     "Um. . ." I replied.

     "Hello? Who is this?"

     I have no idea why it was taking me so long to answer. Possibly it was because I was afraid of having to explain why I was calling instead of texting her the schedule. "Uh, it's me. Uh, I mean Nash. I'm just calling to tell you your schedule for next week."

     "Oh! Thanks!" she said, "I was just expecting you to text it to me."

     "Yeah, that's a funny story."

     "Oh? How so?"

     "My phone got. . . Incapacitated." I said vaguely.

     "Yes, that's. . . quite amusing."

     I proceeded to tell her the schedule. When I finished, she said, "Thanks Nash. Oh, hey. Have you called Ashlee yet? She said you were going to text her the schedule, too."

     "Uh, no," I said with discouragement in my voice, "not yet." I hated Ashlee. The last thing I wanted to do was call her. She was my arch nemesis. She was the Dwight Schrute to my Jim Halpert. She was the Newman to my Jerry Seinfeld. She was the Ralph Macchio to my Barney Stinson. She was evil incarnate and now I had to call her all because I dropped my stupid phone in the toilet. Why do bad things happen to good people? Why? Because people are idiots. Dwight Schrute had some great advice for situations like this: "Before I do anything, I ask myself, 'would and idiot do that?' and if the answer is yes, I do not do that thing."

867-5309

You've seen it in TV shows, you've seen it in movies. A guy walks up to a girl, flirts a little bit, and asks for her phone number. What follows is either a martini in the face or the guy walks away with the requested seven digits. I can proudly say that I have never gotten a martini thrown in my face when asking for a girl's number, but I can not-so-proudly say that I have never asked. But never asking doesn't mean never receiving.

     It happened one Thursday afternoon at work. I was about to clock out and leave when I turned around to Rashaell and asked, "You working tomorrow?"

     "No," she said, "are you?"

     "Yeah, 8 to 4."

     "Could you text me the schedule when it comes out tomorrow?"

     I was about two milliseconds from saying, "I don't text," and explain how I hate it is frustrating, but then I stopped and thought, "This could be my chance to get her number." So I nodded my head and said, "I'd be glad to."

     "Thanks," she said, "My cell number is on the weekly schedule sheet."

     I said goodbye and rushed over to the schedule sheet with a pen and post-it note. Then, out of the corner of my ear (is that a saying? I don't think that's a saying. Eh, whatever) I heard the taunting, shrill voice of Ashlee - my arch nemesis. Ashlee was a snarky, very small girl I worked with. She only weighed about 90 lbs and was probably 4', -10'' in tall. Why did I dislike her? Was it her snarky attitude? No, I actually quite enjoyed that. It was because she was the assistant manager's daughter and she thought she could get away with anything.

     Anyway, she comes up behind me and says, "Wachya doin'?"

     "Getting someone's number." I said without looking away from the schedule.

     "A guuuuuuuuuuurrrrl's number?"

     "Yeah."

     "Wait," she asked, "what about that one girl you like?"

     I had completely forgotten that a few weeks earlier she had come across the scent that I liked someone. She didn't know who, but she was persistent to find out. "That's whose number I'm getting." I said.

     "Oh my god!" She exclaimed, "She works here!?"

     "Ohhhhhh nooooo," I said slowly under my breath.

     "Who is it? Who is it? Are you going to call her. You know you have to wait three days, right?"

     "I'm just texting her the schedule tomorrow."

     "Oh! Can you text me the schedule too?"

     A long pause proceeded in which time I seriously contemplated how much I wanted Ashlee to have access to my number. But in the end, ". . . . . . . okaaaaaay." So I took my pen and wrote down the second number.

     That is the story of how I got two girls' numbers without even asking. This was also the story of how I only programed one onto my phone and threw the other in the trash as I walked out the door.