"How was your Christmas?"
The text message came as a surprise. I don't recall where I was when I got it. Work, maybe. As we texted back and forth a few times, I began to wonder how long it had been since I had heard from her. I wondered where she was and what she was doing. I wondered if I should read anything into her texting me, beyond just keeping in touch. And not least importantly, I wondered who she was.
That's because, though I've had my Blackberry Curve for two months, I've still yet to transfer the names and numbers from my old phone to it. Therefore, I had not the slightest idea who I was texting.
My last phone was so old, all I had to do was pick it up and say, "Sarah, get me the drug store." No, seriously. It was so old that the sim card wasn't compatible with the Blackberry. So the only way to get all my numbers on the Blackberry is to enter each one manually. Think of it as the technological equivalent of needing to transfer all my Tom Jones 8-tracks to iTunes. In both cases, I've yet to get around to it.
Cell phones have completely ruined me from remembering phone numbers. I feel lost now. I know like eight phone numbers, total. Even those I have begun to recognize, I mostly know only by the area code or prefix. I still couldn't dial the entire number from memory.
Incoming calls aren't so bad, as I can usually recognize someone's voice within the first five minutes of a conversation. But anytime a text comes in, unless it's one of the eight I've committed to memory, I sit staring at the ten digit sequence like it's one of those 3D pictures. And maybe if I squint a little harder and concentrate a bit more, the name that goes with the number will magically come to me. Which, by the way, is also pretty much how I approached most of my tests in college.
Texting has become like my own little game of 20 Questions. I send a series of fairly general, innocuous messages, until finally the other person unknowingly reveals some clue as to their identity. During football season, I would typically have two or three people texting "Roll Tide" to me before, during, and after games. To this day, I'm still not certain who a couple of those people were.
My call list on the Blackberry stores twenty numbers, and has become my ad hoc phone book. If you're not one of the last twenty people who have called me or who I've called, there's a decent chance I won't be able to contact you until you call me again and get your name back on the list.
Anyway, back to the conversation which inspired this post. The unknown "she" eventually sent a message asking, "What is ur address?" Still unsure who this person was and only knowing she had an out of state area code, I chose not to respond. I mean, as a semi-popular blogger, one can never be too careful, right?
About a week later, after a complex process of research and elimination, I finally figured out there was a 99.95% chance the mystery texter was Lil' Booty. (That's almost as good as a DNA match right there!) I called and gave her my address, and we shared a laugh.
And no worries about me getting all my numbers transferred onto the Blackberry. I've officially put that on my bucket list.
"Jenny, I've got your number. I need to make you mine. Jenny, don't change your number. 867-5309..."