Τετάρτη, 5 Δεκεμβρίου 2007

The ice cube and other stories

Hello people,

I don’t think I ever mentioned that following the helpful suggestion of a neighbor, I actually put an ad in a local paper advertising my services as a film director. The neighbor assured me that her daughter had found her current job through that very newspaper – they’d called her the next day! So I took her advice and listed both my cell and home number on the ad.

Bad idea.

Ever since, I have been deluged with indecent proposals, lewd suggestions and bizarre fantasies. Almost every single day, some random guy calls me with offers of a dubious nature, complete with deep-throated voices/sighs. I will list only a few here, to give you an idea.

The first one seemed genuine at first: a deep male voice enquired about my credentials, prior experience, diplomas, etc. I listed my achievements, mentioned filming various genres, dramas, comedies, docs, etc. The man then asked whether we could meet in person so we could discuss the project he had in mind. I asked if he could tell me a little more. He said it was [and I quote] “a different kind of project”.

Immediately becoming a little wary, I asked whether he could be more specific. The vagueness remained. Could we not meet in order to discuss it? I said we could, but I might as well warn him right away that if the project he had in mind was of a pornographic nature, I wasn’t interested.

Well, he said, what he really wanted were pictures. Dead silence. I informed him that I was a director, not a photographer, and he would be best advised to find a professional… He immediately interrupted me: he didn’t want a professional, he said. An amateur would do fine. The photos were of a personal nature and to be used privately.

At which point I said I really didn’t think I was the right person for the job [“But why??...”] and hung up.

The next weirdo decided to text me. While I was peacefully having dinner with my little grandma, I heard the “BEEP” signaling an incoming message and ill advisedly read it at the table. The text read: “God, your friend Elena really destroyed me with her strap-on! It was good!”

“Who was it, sweetie?” My grandma asked. “No one, yaya”, I replied, deleting the offensive message on the spot and trying to resume eating. Five minutes later, another incoming message. It said only: “It hurts.” I erased that one as well.

Yet another 5 minutes later, 3rd message. Deciding I was pretty much done eating, I pushed my plate back and read the text: “God, it was a big one.” Deciding that my policy of ignoring the texts wasn’t working, I furiously punched in: “Who the FUCK are you and why the FUCK should I care what happens to you? Stop texting me.” Although my friends said it was dangerous to respond, it had the desired effect, at least as far as the texts were concerned. I did get a phone call a few days later, where a voice incoherently moaned “I huuurt”, but when I answered that that was of absolutely zero interest to me, the line went dead.

Third weirdo, also via text message: “I am a little ice cube, starting in your mouth, I go inside your bra and then descend into your panties. What should I do next?” Having learned from prior experience that attack was the best defense, I savagely texted: “This is not a sex phone line. You obviously have the wrong number, you pathetic twerp.” That ended those texts.

Then there were the inventive ones: “We’re calling from Mode Magazine. You have won 300 Euros. All you need to do is answer a few questions about fashion. Do you wear mini skirts? Do you wear tight pants? Do you often wear transparent clothing?” When he got to “What’s the most provocative outfit you’ve ever worn? We need details”, switching from the polite ‘plural’ form to the everyday ‘singular’ form in his excitement, I finally smelled a rat and asked what kind of questions were those – at which point he hung up.

I was so furious I actually redialed him [the moron hadn’t even bothered calling from a hidden number]. I am not quite sure what I intended to say to him. Probably just random insults. He initially picked up, but immediately started dialing another number, obviously not noticing I was on the line. He hung up, and after that the line was constantly busy. Unbelievable, I thought. Apparently, this guy had nothing better to do all day than dial random women, whose numbers he probably picked up from that very same newspaper.

Another fun one was the guy who wanted me to film him and his wife having sex with 3 other couples. “I’m very sorry, but I’m not interested.” “You don’t understand, you wouldn’t have to participate, just film us.” [Apparently, THAT shouldn’t be a problem for anyone.] “No thanks.” “But why?” “Because my career aspirations do not include filming sordid orgies.” End of that call.

I’ll skip through the following days of weirdos. I’m still getting some, even though the ad was taken off 3 weeks ago. This should make Americans feel better: not all sex maniacs live in the US. At least half of them seem to be in Greece.

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SOME FEEDBACK ABOUT THIS NEWSLETTER:

Jim G:
An interesting way to meet people, n'est ce pas? Maybe I should try something like that here... um... ok, maybe not.

Cory M:
Makes you sort of wonder what kind of job your neighbor's daughter got.

John T:
Sex maniacs? I thought we were naive Puritans? Well... not me personally, but... you know.

Mik H:
So, no booty calls in Greece, just indecent proposals?