Monday, November 22, 2010

What I know about Paula

I get a lot of wrong numbers in TheBigCity.

Ever since I changed my area code in May, I get these random people calling my phone. Sometimes I don’t answer and they leave confusing voice mails. Sometimes they text me in the middle of the night, or at lunch, or when I’m really busy doing other important things, like watching internet television or teaching the cat to fetch a ping pong ball.

All of the wrong numbers are looking for Paula.

Paula, who either has a number very similar to mine, or changed her number and didn’t tell a select group of people. Paula, who has needy friends who just really, really want to talk to her, say, at 2am on a Tuesday. Paula, who I’ve garnered a fair bit of info about through my random observations and mullings, just like I have about skinny, naked guy in the next building over.

Oh yes, we have a skinny, naked guy, much like the cast of Friends had an ugly naked guy, and I have to admit it makes me feel very urban to have a naked guy of my own. I haven’t yet tried to poke him with a series of chopsticks taped together and stretched across the alley, but that’s mostly because I’m fairly certain skinny, naked guy is whacking off to internet porn over there.

Seriously. His knees are usually up around his ears.

Here is what I know about Paula, based on six months of messages, texts and phone calls:

1. Paula has one really, really douchey friend

This guy is an asshole. I don’t fault Paula for not telling him she changed her number, or that he has the wrong one, or for running over him with her car if she decides to go that route.

Douchey friend likes to call in the middle of the night, repeatedly, until I pick up. This is how our conversations usually go:

Me: Hello?
Douche: Yo, Paula! We’re at the *indecipherable* and you should be here!
Me: Sorry, wrong number.
Douche: Yo, Paula?
Me: SORRY, wrong NUMBER.
Douche: This isn’t Paula, yo?
Me: NO THIS IS NOT PAULA. THIS HAS NEVER BEEN PAULA. YOU HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER AGAIN.
Douche: Do you know where Paula is, sweetheart?
Me: WRONG. NUMBER.
Douche: You have a nice voice there, sweetheart.
Me: *click*


Sometimes, when my phone is turned off, after he’s tried calling 2 or 3 times, he leaves me an enraged message.

Douche: YO PAULA. PAULA. WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, SWEETHEART? WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING YOUR PHONE? PAULA, I’M GETTING REALLY ANNOYED HERE. WE’RE AT THE *indecipherable* BAR AND YOU NEED TO CALL ME BACK. OK. BYE.

Now that I think about it, this guy might be an ex-lover, or an obsessed psychopath, or both, and he plans to strangle her during non-consensual sex and then cut her into pieces so she can never leave him.

Run, Paula. Run for your life.

2. Paula has an ethnic, old-lady acquaintance

Sometimes an old Indian lady calls looking for Paula. At least, I think she’s looking for Paula. She could also be saying “caller,” or “hello,” or maybe “korma.”

Maybe she’s ordering Indian food. Maybe she’s ordering Indian food every time, and then she sits around wondering where her food is 20 minutes after I hang up. But why would an Indian woman order Indian food? That’s like me ordering in…poutine. Which I’ve done multiple times, actually, but regardless, I’m pretty sure she’s looking for Paula.

Here is how our conversations go. She usually calls around 5 or 6pm…which is totally dinner time, but I’m still fairly certain she’s looking for Paula and not trying to order Indian Special #6.

Me: Hello?
Indian Lady: Oh hello, hi. *indecipherable* *voice trailing off* Paula/Korma/caller/hello?
Me: …HELLO?
Indian Lady: Oh hello, hi. *indecipherable* *voice trailing off* Paula/Korma/caller/hello?
Me:…You want to sell me what now?
Indian Lady: Oh hello, hi. *indecipherable* *voice trailing off* Paula/Korma/caller/hello?
Me: Mom?
Indian Lady: Oh hello, hi. *indecipherable* *voice trailing off* Paula/Korma/caller/hello?
Me: I think you have the wrong number.
Indian Lady: PAULA/KORMA
Me: I’m sorry. Wrong number. I think? Mom?
Indian Lady: Sorry. So sorry. Ah sorry.
Me:…ok bye.
Indian Lady: ok bye.


This has happened at least six times.

3. Paula may be trying her hand at internet dating, and possibly having webcam sex with suitors

I mean, I’d do the same if my only friends were a douche and an old Indian lady. Get out there, Paula! Meet people! Just don’t give them my number.

Last weekend, BadInfluence and I went for a long walk through the city and wound up in an old Hungarian coffee shop. As we waited for the waitress, who looked EXACTLY like FauxHawk’s mother, to bring us our coffees and strudel, I got a text from a number I didn’t recognize, from a person who didn’t leave their name. I hate when that happens, because then, just in case it is from someone you know, you have to write back.

Although I was fairly certain I didn’t know this person, because none of my friends would miss an apostrophe, even on their death beds.

Here is an exact transcript:

Internet Sucker: Hey sweetness how are things at your end
Me: Hey who is this?
Internet Sucker: Don’t you suck forgetting me its jayson
Me: Who are you trying to reach?
Internet Sucker: haha we met on pof (editor’s note: plenty of fish) a while back you seen me on webcam also… ;)
Me: Sorry, you have the wrong number. This is ThePeach. Never been on POF.
Internet Sucker: I’m so sorry

That poor sucker. He bared his heart, and probably his genitals, and Paula gave him the wrong number.

Wouldn’t it be funny if “jayson” were my skinny, naked guy? I mean, SNG is so definitely stroking his penis in front of his computer over there. Seriously, I can see it.

Sometimes the stars just align.

What I don’t know is how the old Indian lady fits into all this.

She probably does just want Indian food.

ThePeach