my stalker - a true story, part six
written at 9:24 p.m. on 07.03.04
Sweetness!! I got into Diaryland!! First try!!
Unfortunately, that gives me no excuse if I don't get a lot of progress made on the stalker story.
So, here goes nothing. (Again, if you're just tuning in, catch the full story by clicking on any of these links! Part 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5.)
My Stalker - Part Six
So, here I was, frustrated that my stalker didn't even remember me, but confused as to why that would bother me. I frustratedly typed back, "This is Rachel." He replied saying something along the lines of "Oh, ok. well, it was nice talking to you. good luck with your bf!"
At this point, Cribbet and I were driving a few minutes over to Starbucks to finish off the day with some delicious and ridiculously over-priced caffiene. Yumm. (Not as good as Caribou!!) Ok, so.. I lost my train of thought. Oh right. I literally cringed when I received that message from Matt. Here I was letting my friend taunt this guy in cruel and unusual ways when all the guy can do is be nice! If anyone deserves the jerk-of-the-year award. Oh right. This is not just your average nice guy. I managed to snag myself the suction cup version of Mr. Nice, complete with two AA batteries and a load of creepy messages! Text message his cell phone to hear him say one of thousands of different phrases! Yours for only five payments of $19.99!! Call within the next five years and we'll include a really creepy but funny voice message delivered right to your voicemail, free of charge! That's a three hundred dollar value, yours for the low, low price of $19.99!
Anywho..
Cribbet, as I mentioned yesterday, was in the middle of tormenting the poor dude. He told him he was dying of AIDS. The response? "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Cribbet: Yeah. You can help me spread it.
Stalker: How?
Cribbet: How old r u? It might be illegal.
Stalker: Old enough.
Cribbet: Exactly how old is that?
Stalker: 19 At least he's consistent to some degree. That's the age he claimed to be when talking to me, too.
Cribbet: You can help me by making mad love to me. For anyone who knows Cribbet, you'll understand why I started vomiting in my mouth at this point. Then again, it's not like I was gonna vomit into my ear or something.
Stalker: When?
Cribbet: As soon as possible.
Stalker: Ok.
Cribbet: By the way, I'm a transexual something or other, I can't remember.
OK, you get the picture. Cribbet was messing with my stalker in a very disturbing way. I couldn't figure out why he was playing along. It made me glad I was ending the whole thing. We left Starbucks, since I had something to do. I got a call five minutes after leaving from Cribbet saying that his phone kept ringing and that the guy wouldn't leave him alone. I told Cribbet that it was now his problem to deal with. I went home, toodled around a bit, and went to work.
At work that night, I got paged from Beth, who does inventory stuff in the back room of the store. She paged me to let me know that my cell phone was ringing. I went dashing to the back room, sending Michael, my coworker up to the front to watch the registers. I picked up my phone and saw that it was Cribbet who had been calling me. He also texted me saying, "This guy won't leave me alone. He's leaving messages on my phone." Wow, I left Cribbet at about 2:30, and by this point, it was probably six o'clock at night. I called Cribbet up and asked him for a quick update on the situation. Basically it's what the text message said. Cribbet now had his own stalking situation.
Realizing that this situation might progress later in the night, I brought my cell phone up front with me. I felt really dumb now, since I was spending two entire shifts at work glued to my cell phone like it was my best friend, when indeed, it was turning out to be more of an enemy.
About an hour later, I received a text message that left me queasy.
"Rachel, this guy's a ******* county detective.
::Insert a lot of whispered expletives. Don't judge me, just insert them, fool.::
I texted back, starting to feel the panic in my throat. "Are you serious?" I know it's a retarded question to ask, but I had to make sure he wasn't pulling my leg. I wasn't about to throw up my Starbucks until I was sure the situation called for it. Heck, that's a lot of money to waste! Actually, I don't know how I can joke about this. I was honestly scared straight by this point.
"Yeah. He wants to put me in jail."
At this point, I half-staggered, half-ran to the back room so that I could call Cribbet. I again ordered Michael to the front, for once not amused by his whining when I bossed him around.
I dialed Cribbet's cell and waited for him to answer, a sickness creeping into my stomach, where it planned to reside for the rest of the night. He told me that Matt had told him that he was a detective whose job it was to find people like Cribbet and have them put in jail for phone harassment. I was freaking out. Cribbet is the type of guy who does come off as a creepy child-molesting type, probably because all of his girlfriends look like they're in sixth grade. Now, if you recall, Cribbet and I had originally planned the lunch thing as a goodbye hoopla, since he was leaving for college two days later on Saturday. (The school he's attending is a June to June school.) I felt horrible!! My friend is about to go to jail because I let him freak out some guy who winds up being a detective.. all while Cribbet is supposed to be packing a leaving!
Well, Matt called him up and left him a voicemail saying "You need to call me immediately" and a bunch of other stuff. I don't know how I endured that last hour or two at work. I remember trying to explain the situation to Michael, who couldn't help but notice that I wasn't laughing at anything and that I was moping about looking like I'd just been punched in the stomach. It felt that way. I seriously thought I was going to vomit, I was so freaked out and feeling so terrible for having been a part of this situation.
I got off work and walked out to my car. I sat down, and glared at my cell phone, wishing uselessly that it hadn't been invented. I burst into tears, right in the middle of the parking lot, wondering what was going to happen if what Matt said was true. I was paranoid too that if Cribbet went to jail, that my parents would find out that I hadn't just had a small conversation with a wrong-number stranger. They'd find out everything and I'd probably be grounded from everything, college included, for eternity. Beyond that, I was still feeling awful about Cribbet being in this mess right before he left for college.
The only other person at this point who knew anything about the story was Josh, of course. Trying desperately to wipe off the tears (so he wouldn't see them? I don't know...) and to regain a steady-sounding voice, I finally dialed his cell. I explained the whole story, blubbering through the post-sob phlegm in my throat, unsuccessfully holding back another torent of tears. In a voice that was almost annoyingly calm, Josh explained to me that from a rational point of view, which he definitely had, this guy was a freakin liar. He had to tell me this, oh, about forty times before I finally calmed down enough to let him call back another person who needed his help. (Heh, yes, he should get promoted to superhero level one of these days.)
One thing that had come to mind while at work was the idea of calling the police to verify this guy's identity. Somewhere along the line, my rational thoughts left the building, leaving me with that useless knot in my stomach. Josh, however, suggested that we call this police on this guy, and I decided that Cribbet should be the one to do that. So, I called him up, only to get his voicemail. Tears finally under control, I left a message with the town's non-emergency police number. (I actually have it on my cell phone, cuz not too long ago, I needed it to report some homeless guy who was hitch-hiking. I merely reported him to the police so they could send a car over to give him a ride, since at the time, I was with my mom, and it would've been too dangerous to pick him up.)
Anyway, Cribbet texted me later to say that it didn't matter, that the guy hadn't talked to him since, and no response had been made to the "Call me now" message. Half of the little people who were causing havoc in my stomach left, leaving me with a less-queasy-but-still-not-nice feeling in me olde tummy.
Argh. This story is so freakin long.
Dum dee dum. Ok, so Cribbet is somewhat safe, I'm somewhat sane, so I drove home. Yeah, that whole thing took place in the parking lot. Michael actually finished up whatever it is that he does after I leave and was walking to his car when I cranked up the music and roared out of there.
Of course, I was listening to Maroon 5, my official car-CD-of-the-year, and I made sure to belt out the lyrics the whole way home, so I would be concentrating on something that wouldn't make me cry. I turned my cell on silent and focused on getting home looking normal, or as normal as I can look.
Fifteen minutes later, I was home. Yeah, I drove the speed limit, and it took me forever to get home. However, I wasn't about to get involved with any police, real or not, so I didn't bother taking any chances. I waltzed in the door, let me dad say "Hi, honey!" as I customarily waltzed by, showing off my professional ignoring skills. My mom babbled something at me, but she's always watching some dumb PAX show or the Home Shopping Network, so her brain gets a little warped. Her sentences, therefore, never make much sense. I just mumble a "Yes, ma'am," and hope that she'll let me on the internet. Come to think of it, I don't think she did. I'm not sure what I did with myself for the next few hours. Oh, wait, I remember. I turned on my cell phone and placed it on the headboard, hoping that I would accidentally karate-chop it in my sleep. I was so exhausted (crying makes me sleepy) that I quickly changed into the nearest items of clothing suitable for sleeping in, and I plopped in bed at the early hour of ten o'clock!
But the day would not freakin end! At 11:50, I heard the now unbelievably annoying and mildly creepy beep, indicating yet another bloody text message. GIVE ME A BREAK!
Well, for now, the only break you'll get is the end of this entry, and perhaps a Kit-Kat bar. Sorry, that was a really bad joke, I know. I can't resist. It's part of my evil nature, subjecting all my readers to unhealthy doses of horrible humor. Bwa ha ha!!!!! OK, seriously though, I have to go. Again. Only a little bit left, though!! Whoo-hoo! And people of the Kingdom of Far, Far Away (Elgin), do not fear, I am mustering my courage as you read. I love you all dearly and hope to see you soon. To the rest of you, good night, Lord of the Rings style!
"I bid you all a very fond farewell!"
(Three cheers for hobbits!)
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