I don't think anyone can deny that communication technology is advancing exponentially, eliminating the likelihood of dialing a wrong number or contacting the wrong person, whether via phone, iPod or rocks on window.
Basically, the art of fucking with people is changing with the times, leaving the days of ""maybe we should *67 in case they have caller i.d."" behind.
That's not to say prank calling won't revolutionize itself just like everything else, and that our children and grandchildren won't be surprising their crushes in the shower with their teletransporter machines or making spooky noises at the neighbors in their invisibility cloaks.
But the days of the simplicity of prank calling or good, old-fashioned, honest dialing mistakes could be behind us soon, so I'd like to take this opportunity to pay homage to phone shenanigans.
I discovered the wonders of the telephone in elementary school in the coat room of my Milwaukee synagogue with a few friends.
A friend of mine wondered what would happen if we dialed 1-800-free-sex. Three of us huddled ear-to-ear around the tiny speaker.
""Hey baby, I've been a dirty little slut. How can I pleasure you?""
We hung up, laughing hysterically.
""She called us baby!"" my friend exclaimed.
Not long after that, I soon discovered that prank calling wasn't really prank calling unless you actually spoke to the person. So I did what any 9-year-old would do. I called my parents.
""Mrs. Wee-ah-trach?""
""Yes?""
""Would you like to come to a tea party?"" I asked in my best British accent.
""Umm what is this regarding?""
""We serve oolong with a side of biscuits and worm guts!"" I covered my mouth to hide my snickering.
""Ooh, well that sounds delicious! By the way, if you talk to my daughter, would you let her know to put her clothes in the hamper instead of kicking them under her bed? Thanks.""
After my pubescent years of calling classmates, I finally perfected my prank call voice.
When I discovered my good friend Tim, for reasons unbeknownst to me, had installed a trucker radio in his car, I jumped on the opportunity to show off my skills and sent out my signal to all the truckers in the area.
""Hey boys, I'm feeling lonely. Can someone keep me company?""
Upon receiving an overly enthusiastic plethora of responses, I was suddenly afraid for my chastity.
""Oh, never mind. Found someone. Thanks anyway.""
Another under-discussed point of confusion with the phone is the area code. When my parents moved to Nashville a few years back, they didn't change their cell phone numbers for a few months.
So, when my dad, a doctor, would give out his cell to patients, they often called the last seven digits with the Nashville area code. Unfortunately, this would lead them to another ""doctor"" who didn't quite have the credentials he did.
""You've reached Bob's home abortion service. Please leave your name, number and preferred date and time of termination.""
Most of my precious phone memories star me as the pranker, but I've also been the victim of prank calling or mistake calling, like when my ex-boyfriend tried to drunk text his friend Kyle, but accidentally sent, ""Hey Kyke,"" to me.
As my college years come to a close and I start to find my professional self, I understand that a 22-year-old job hunter's prank calls are not really adorable anymore.
But I could probably make an exception if I had one more shot on that trucker radio inviting lonely men to tea parties with bugs and ballerinas.
Kiera's in the market for an invisibility cloak for reasons she is unable to disclose. E-mail her at wiatrak@wisc.edu and she'll make you an offer.
