Apparently my Google Voice number once belonged to a Mercer Island drug dealer. In case you don't know this already, I do not deal drugs. I've never even been to Mercer Island. Nevertheless, my conversation with an unrecognized 206- number actually occurred as follows. I've re-arranged the time-stamps and added occasional notes, to draw attention to gaps in the conversation etc., but otherwise this text is a straight copy from my Google Voice archive.
Also worth noting: I wasn't even in Seattle at the time; I was with friends at the Elk in Spokane, waiting for an Explosions in the Sky concert. We went on this adventure together, and some of the funniest stuff here was their idea. I'll try to give credit where due.
Sept. 7, 2011
206.xxx.xxxx: Can I get that brownie?
Me: Sorry. Who's this?
206.xxx.xxxx: It's R--- [1st name, redacted], and can I get a dime actually
[n.b. For 3 full minutes I considered telling him he had the wrong number.]
206.xxx.xxxx: Where you wanna meet?
[n.b., this is where I let the other guys at the table in on it. My next response was NH's idea.]
Me: I'm at children's hospital. Can you come here?
Me: Cool. And we can forget the fee this time if you bring me a birthday cake. I'm starving.
206.xxx.xxxx: 1.5 grams. And it's a birthday cake.
Me: Ice cream cake. Mint chocolate chip.
206.xxx.xxxx: I'm here
Me: Which door?
206.xxx.xxxx: Wye front one, by the mad ape
[sic. I presume he was texting while driving at this point.]
Me: Can you come up to the radiology lab? I'm in the middle of something...
Me: Bring the cake
206.xxx.xxxx: Are you at Virginia mason?
Me: No, at children's. Go south
[n.b. Couldn't resist the 1980's text-adventure reference. ]
206.xxx.xxxx: Yeah. Not sure where that is
Me: Just N of U village.
[n.b. Thanks to RJ for knowing where hospitals are & stuff.]
206.xxx.xxxx: In Seattle?...
Me: Um yeah
206.xxx.xxxx: WTF?!?!?! I'm on the fucking island
[n.b. Here, BB told us it was time to go "hardened criminal" on the guy. So I did.]
Me: Dont Fuck around. Bring me the cake.
206.xxx.xxxx: Don't fuck around, be on the island.
Me: Leaving now be back in 45 to an hour. Can you wait?
206.xxx.xxxx: Yeah! I'll keep the cake cold
Me: Right on. Maybe pick up one if those Styrofoam coolers.
206.xxx.xxxx: Yeah, I got one
Me: Wanna check on the cake? I'm almost there.
206.xxx.xxxx: Yeah, it's still good
206.xxx.xxxx: Can you do an extra dub? I'll pay for this one
Me: I'll have to make a stop.
206.xxx.xxxx: Thats cool we can give you a ride
Me: Cool but do you have room for a wheelchair? If not that's okay but I'll have to bus it.
206.xxx.xxxx: Yeah I got room
Me: Awesome. Almost there.
Me: Oh, its one of those electric whhel chairs. Doesn't fold up or anything. Sure you've got room?
206.xxx.xxxx: No, I don't, I'm in my corolla
206.xxx.xxxx: Listen I gotta go. Meet you later/soon
Me: Sorry but who is this again?
206.xxx.xxxx: R--- M--- [1st & last name, redacted]
[n.b. Here we arrived at the concert. I put my phone on silent through the opening act because I'm not a douche.]
206.xxx.xxxx: Hey man, can I get that?
206.xxx.xxxx: Your cakes getting warm
[n.b. End of opening act.]
Me: Oh Shit my phone was off. Come on over.
206.xxx.xxxx: I'm almost at your place
206.xxx.xxxx: I'm here
Me: Cool, Come on up.
[n.b. Explosions came to the stage, my phone went off, and I haven't heard from RM since.]
The question of whether this guy ever figured out we were obviously fucking with him and started playing along for fun has been a subject of much debate. Did he really buy an ice cream cake and a styrofoam cooler to keep it cold while he drove around Mercer Island trying to find a made-up children's hospital? Hard to believe.
But it's also hard to believe he would have been so pissed off that I was (supposedly) in the city, or that he would give his full name when I spontaneously acted confused half-way through the conversation, or, for that matter, that he would have waited as long as he did to quit talking to me. I like to think he saw an opportunity to get a lot of weed for a $15 cake and leaped at the chance. And boy, what I would give to have seen it when he showed up on an actual drug-dealer's porch with an ice cream cake expecting a gram and a half. Cue Mastercard commercial.