"What We Have Here Is a Failure To Communicate."

THE OFFENSE: disorderly texting

THE CULPRIT: George R, The Texter. 24 year old male. Athletic, good looking, a little on the short side, otherwise lame.

THE INCIDENT: [Winter, 2007]

For those who know me (and a little trivia for those who don't), I only started drinking a few years ago when I went back to university. I had never been the kind of teenage girl who traipsed around town underage drinking, so by the time I reached my early twenties, I was ready to make up for lost time...(except the underage drinking part...because legal age is 18y in Alberta, so trying to accomplish that would have involved some sort of time/youth machine.)

I was out at the bar for my friend's 24th birthday party, sufficiently inebriated by the 3 coolers I'd downed one after another (which, again, for those who know me, is A LOT). It was a Girl Party, so we six hot young things were dancing the night away at what used to be The Stonehouse (the actual bar has since been reno'ed and turned into another, much less successful bar.) Having an eye for flirting, I scanned the room for potential eligible young men, when I ran into my roommate and his girlfriend with a bunch of their friends. After our drunken reunion (because, having not seen each other in 6 hours, we were thrilled to be in the same building again), my roommate's girlfriend (let's call her Sally) introduced me to the one single boy at the bar that night.

I'm going to finish the rest of this story in dialogue form, because my narrative writing skills are at a 3rd grade level, and I'm embarrassed to continue this way.

SATURDAY NIGHT:

Sally: This is George! He's single! George, this is--
Me: Angelina Jolie.
George: Then call me Brad.
Me: Thanks, I will.
Sally: You two should TOTALLY hook up!
George: [blathering on about something obviously not interesting enough for me to remember]
Me: Do you want my phone number. [yes, it was a statement. Not a question. It made sense at the time.]
George: well, if I call you will you answer?
Me: You have ten seconds to take down my number.
George: God damn, hand it over!

We exchange phone numbers and go our separate ways.

The next week, George texts me asking me out on a real date.

MONDAY: [texting]

G: Hey, it's G from the bar last weekend. Do you still want to link up or was that just a drunken rouse?
Me: It was a drunken rouse, but I'll give it a go nonetheless. How does Tuesday sound.
G: Tuesday sounds good. What do you want to do?
Me: How about we put you in charge. You make the gameplan. I'll be ready on Tuesday at 8pm.
G: er..ok...

TUESDAY: [texting]

G: Are we still on for tonight?
Me: yup. What's the gameplan, coach?
G: Um, well, I don't know. What do you want to do?
Me: I put the ball in your court so that you could knock it out of the park. What did you have in mind?
G: Maybe...a drink or two somewhere?
Me: Sounds good. Where?
G: Well what side of the city are you on?
Me: South. You?
G: North.

...*prolonged texting silence*...

Me: hello?
G: Sorry, I'm just trying to think of where we could go.
Me: How about somewhere downtown? It's a good middle ground isn't it?
G: Sure downtown sounds good.
Me: Anywhere in particular downtown that you like?
G: I don't know downtown very well...
Me: Do you know anywhere very well?
G: Well, where's good?
Me: (thinking, "For Eff's sake.") Let's just meet at Hudsons downtown at 8pm. It's on 112st and Stonyplain.
G: Oh that one. I forgot about that one. okay see you soon.

[By this time, we had been texting for an hour or two and 8pm was only 30 min away. So we met up, had a decent time, and agreed to go out again at a later date. Except the second date never happened. Instead, we were texting back and forth for a week or two before one of us (me) even broached the subject.

THE NEXT MONDAY: [texting]

Me: So are we going to link up again or does this daily texting satisfy you.
G: Considering you never answer my texts, I didn't think you'd be interested in 'linking up'
Me: Um... I always answer your texts. I might not see them till the next day because I HAVE A JOB but I always answer.

So I pick up my damn phone and actually call this loser to ream him out in person.
...except he doesn't pick up. But he does text me right away. And this texting goes on for days again, mostly around the fact that both of us were interested in going out again, but neither of us is committing to a day or time. In the end, I sent him one last text telling him he was cut from the team.

So knowing what I know now, this episode would definitely not have lasted that long (from start to end, the back and forth texting went on for probably three weeks or more.) Of course, I didn't know how AWESOME I was back then, and that nobody deserves to be jerked around by text messaging, ever. What I never understood is why someone would go out of his way to text me on a regular basis for weeks on end (most of that texting was initiated by him), but be afraid of actually putting the phone to his ear. What say yee, jury? What sentence does The Texter deserve?