In Too Deep

A dream of mine came true recently. It took a hard left turn into a bit of a nightmare, but, like, a funny one, where you wake up scared-- but laughing. 

A mistaken identity text exploited for japery!

The sender thinks they are texting someone else, and rather than telling them "wrong number," you just roll with it. You've seen instances of this online, they sometimes go viral because the recipient plays along or trolls the sender, and hilarity unfolds as things escalate. I always say, "dang I wish that would happen to me so I could mess with someone."

Because in my head, and despite never actually attempting it, I'm an improv genius, and the world is missing out on my star-shine because I'll never be camera-ready. 

With all this pre-existing desire to have a wrong-number text fall into my lap, I may have been over-primed and shot out of the gate too fast when it actually did.

Let's dive in. Here's the initial text:

if you already know where this is going, congrats on being smarter than me, and maybe we should get you some help.

Now, most of this was pure nonsense to me, but I didn't care. MY MOMENT HAD COME! And if my sender/target is a little less proficient at making the Englishes, it could be even more fun!

Since I was shooting blind with zero context of what this dude is talking about or who he (she?) thinks I am, I just went wide with it, employing the classic Righteous Wronged Lover/Friend ploy as my opening gambit.

I'm confident I have him off-balance right away.. He's thinking of every way he's ever wronged whoever he thinks I am. 

I am expecting a little more personal and specific intel when he replies. Is he an ex-lover? A bro turned enemy? A mild mannered co-worker that is spiraling now that I've come out guns blazing? 

Damn. My new friend is surprisingly emotionally healthy (unlike 80% of people I typically encounter) and apologizes immediately rather than escalating or striking back like I'd hoped. BUT he is accepting the fact that he does in fact have a lot of nerve contacting me--meaning there's been some drama in the past.  I'M AS GOOD AT THIS AS I HAD HOPED.

I'm concerned but still frosty. I care about him, at least, hurt though I may be. Trying to keep him on the line here. If his grandma died, or he was in a car accident, and that's why he wronged "me,"  I don't want to be so mean to him that he just cuts me off.

Ummmmm. Okay. Was NOT expecting that.

So what we know:

1. He screwed over someone, but 2. he didn't want to--there was an extenuating circumstance, and 3. the emergency ended well because he escaped from something/someone.

This is like guessing someone else's Mad-Lib answers. I am genuinely intrigued and want to know his life and story at this point.

He could 100% be reverse trolling me here, but I don't care. I'm eating out of his hand. And anyway, once I figure out what he escaped from, I can double cross him and return to my pranksmanship.

I'm wracking my brain though as I wait for a reply. What on earth is happening? Is the initial message he sent me the Rosetta Stone to figuring out the rest of this convo and our secret backstory?

I look at it again and drop out everything that is nonsense words to me and get a rough translation of  "super super a1 on deck and zans."

"really much/extra noun (probably) is on deck (aka on hand, coming up soon, ready, etc.), and also some plural nouns(?)" 

The lack of syntax should have been my first red flag. "Lean not on the words of he who useth not verbs" -(1 Keighticles 2:14)

But he replies!

Okay, on first glance this doesn't make sense either. But then one "word" jumps out. "Popo." As is Police, or policía, if youre Ben Stiller in Anchorman.

Image result for policia anchorman

But policía are not people that I attempt to get away from. I'm now concerned that I am trying to be Bart Simpson and I have Tony Soprano on the other end of this little joke. I notice the texts aren't blue like they are when an iPhone texts, and all my Breaking Bad knowledge comes flooding back: he's texting me from a burner!!!

He elaborates and clarifies.

Someone tried to set him up with the police and he *thankfully* got away. Oh dear. None of this is how I imagined it. 

I decide to do what I should have done from the beginning (if I hadn't been so giddy to start my punk'd episode): Urban Dictionary the words I don't understand from the original text.

Urban dictionary has two types of entries: those that are so elementary or stupid that even a 3 year old doesn't need to be told what they mean, AND horrifying (surely fictional) sexual terms that turn any (and basically EVERY) normal word or phrase into something that--at 35 and rather acquainted with the rated-R aspects of modern life--I'm too young and innocent to be exposed to. If you can leave this website without cringing, you've got me beat.

First mystery term: a1

Aw, okay. That's kind of what I figured. So my friend is talking about something lovely or on point. Nothing to be afraid of there!

Buuuuuut then I scroll down to the next most popular entry

horrible word blurred by me, in an example sentence that is unintelligible.

Wellllll, now I've done it. He's writing me to tell me he has some very pure cocaine. I am not in need of riding the cocoa dragon: I can't even drink two freaking cups of coffee in one day without losing my mind and trying to make friends with strangers at the grocery store, can you imagine me on cocaine (no baking soda)? I’d for sure try to balloon boy one of my kids

 I almost don't even need to search "zans" because I have some solid context now for who this guy is and why he's texting "me."

Ah. Xanax. Yes. So I'm guessing this fellow isn't a pharmacist, because though cocaine was prescribed back in the day for your dropsy, swooning spells, and overexertion in the gold rush of 1848, I don't believe its pharmaceutical heyday ever overlapped with that of Xanax. THIS IS NOT COVERED BY MY HEALTHCARE PROVIDER!

It's a drug dealer. I'm trolling a drug dealer. I regret everything and I want out. 

I immediately google my cell phone number to see if it's in any way associated with my physical address, name or children's schools (mama don't need no Man on Fire Dakota Fanning drama). It's not. Shwew.

I have not responded since then. I couldn't sit still for like 3 hours after this adrenaline spike (like I'd gotten ahold of some super super A1, amirite?). 

Ironically, I never thought I needed Xanax until this little episode! 

I think I'll talk to my doctor about it instead of my texting buddy, though.