: Ritual :

I have a horrible disability. When a girl gives me her number, I call it. I call it pretty much immediately. I try and hold back. Really I do. I’ve heard the warnings about calling too soon. Horror stories. All of them end with the main character getting disembowled by a chainsaw. 3 days, 1 week, 1 year...I’m told by friends, my dentist, the characters in 40-Year Old Virgin. I’m confused. They all seem to disagree on the right approach.

But in that moment of “what if”, whether fueled by boredom, drunkenness, loneliness, eagerness to be loved, or misdialing, the power of suggestion is overpowering. My rational self loses a battle to my hands. It happens everytime. A landslide. Hands 76 – Rational Self 0
I know I shouldn’t be calling and I can almost guarantee that they won’t answer. In fact, they rarely do leaving me with a moment of sheer panic where I need to decide whether to do the following:

1) Hang up and hope they don’t catch the number
2) Leave a voicemail

Usually I suck it up and do #2. No matter how witty or interesting I try and sound in my voicemail, it’s always a nerve-wracking experience knowing that they can save it, send it to others. I foresee the phone being placed on speaker at the bar, friends gathered around laughing and holding up scorecards.

I always try and say something memorable but more often than not I fumble through my improvisation and it comes out sounding like cats fucking in the alley. Not pretty. I try again with the pound button but that only works on some mobile services so when the pound button doesn't work (which on the other end sounds like a long beep followed by the sound of a oh shit), in desperate fashion, I fumble through the immediate push of the red button to end the call. I am left with shame and hope and then more shame.

This lasts for about a day or until I’m drunk next, whichever comes first, and then the ritual begins again.