Pocket Dialing

 

15

33

Daniel D.

San Francisco, CA

The close friend of drunk dialing, in the wrong pants, pocket dialing is quite possibly more dangerous.

It's like when you're going through airport security and the little TSA person tells you that you have a corkscrew in your bag.  

You say: "no I don't"
They say "yes you do"

They tell you exactly where it is in your bag.  They make you feel like a loser by making YOU fetch it.  They call you "sir" to let you know you're in trouble.

TSA: "In the left pocket, unzip right there, yes, right there, reach to the bottom".
You: "OOOOH, heheh, yeah, umm... I had this work party, must have thrown it in there, SOOOO sorry."

Same thing with your phone.  When your ex-girlfriend is calling you at 1AM and says "I'm SO mad at you", then proceeds to tell you that you called her and made an ass of yourself, don't say "no I didn't".  She'll tell you exactly when you called, she'll tell you exactly what you said, she'll tell you just how drunk you were.  If you've really botched up, she'll also recognize some of the voices around you.

It's all karma, I suspect.  What I've done to deserve it, I have no idea.  But when your phone has decided that tonight is your night, it will unlock itself, it will wiggle around your pocket, pressing all the right buttons, down, down, down, until it finds your ex, and then it will wait.  It's patient.  It knows you can't go more than a few minutes without hurting yourself.  And so, just as you start into something good, it jumps into place and suddenly the god-forsaken green button is pressed.   You're screwed, and you don't even know it.  But you will, you will.  

And you'll spend the rest of your night locking and re-locking your keys.

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Elite '08

45

120

Marc M.

San Francisco, CA

I can't disagree more with the previous reviewer (repeat and emphasize).

There's a catch phrase in the movie Magnolia, "Respect the cock!" (if that gets picked up as an uncouth yelp word... let it be known, I may or may not have been referring to a male-chicken). Anyway - to the point: sometimes we're too quick to blame the wiles of pocket romance for getting us into trouble, but I don't think we give our hips enough credit here.

They know what they're doing; you imagine it's sheer coincidence that you've dialled a past beloved? No no no... this was no accident, your crotch and hip bone are in cahoots; your head might be full of deluded notions of etherwordly romance, but the crotch thinks otherwise. He remembers that old flame that flipped for her five minutes of fun.

The crotch never forgets.

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