Jennifer Kruidbos in her party dress :She wanted to know why her boyfriend had no pictures of her wearing it.
Courtesy of Jennifer Kruidbos
By JENNIFER KRUIDBOS
Tuesday, April 24, 2007Texting sweet nothings to your object of affection can be fun, but beware the misdirected message.
A few weeks ago, my boyfriend called me in Montreal, from Halifax, asking if there was anything I wanted to tell him. I mentally rewound the prior few days, trying to remember any misbehaviour that would have prompted his uncharacteristic doubt. With a clear conscience, I said that he had nothing to worry about.
"Then why have I spent the last hour being questioned by an RCMP detective about you?" he asked, and proceeded to tell about the detective who had called his cellphone that afternoon. His questions were strange: "Has Jennifer been hanging out with a new crowd?" and "Does Jennifer have access to a voice recorder?"
I listened to his bizarre story, interrupting only for the occasional "Wha...?!", while I ran through a sequence of conflicting emotions: panic, confusion and uneasiness, before finding comfort in a final thought: he's taking me for a ride. But he was not.
As he requested, I checked my messages, and there was one from Detective Currie: "I would like a call from Jennifer regarding obscene phone calls originating from this cellphone number. If I don't receive a phone call in the next 24 hours we will initiate investigative action that will result in charges being laid. Thank you. Bye."
Frowning, then grinning, then giggling, turning red and tearing, I realized what the RCMP might be upset about. My cellphone has a service that reads text messages aloud in an automated voice when they are sent to land lines.
I recalled that the night before, on little sleep, I had texted some outrageous messages to what I thought was my boyfriend's new cellphone. A total of five messages lamented the lack of photographs he had taken of me at his company Christmas party.
I felt dead sexy that night. A friend of mine had lent me a dress that fit perfectly and was made of gold-and-beige patterned silk that swayed angelically when I walked. This dress made me feel like a superstar, so once I arrived at the Christmas party I immediately got on stage and sang karaoke. I performed the Janis Joplin version of Me and Bobby McGee, complete with hip shakes and clenched-fist pull-downs.
Everyone fantasizes about being a rock star for a day, but I entertain this fantasy more than the average person. When I realized that there were no pictures of my performance, I made sure to express my irritation - passionately. My heated messages must have found their way to the RCMP. But how?
Embarrassed and nervous, I called the detective. He told me that the night before, a first-year student at Acadia University had called 911, hysterically claiming that someone was harassing her. Between sobs, the girl recounted that five minutes earlier, as she was dozing off, her phone rang. Groggy, she answered, expecting it to be her parents. Instead, a creepy automated man's voice spoke rapidly about sexy photographs.
Alarmed, she hung up the phone. But it rang again 15 seconds later. She answered, this time wide awake, convincing herself she had dreamed the first call, but there was the scary voice again. Beginning to panic she hung up, but the ringing started a third time. Trembling, she answered, heard a few disturbing sentences and slammed the receiver down. She got two more calls and then frantically called the police.
I apologized profusely once Detective Currie finished. Then, nervously, I asked him,
"Um, by any chance, did you read these messages?"
"Yes," he responded. "We have all listened to them. Would you like to hear them?" I thought I heard snickering in the background.
"Well no ..." but a scary robotic voice cut me off.
"I-AM-VERY-DISSAPOINTED" the voice started. I cringed.He he he......................................
Source : http://www.canada.com/montrealgazette/story.html?id=2f4f9e37-678f-45d6-b74d-95d44cfe7df6&k=62043
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