I’m a bit of a prankster.
So, when I was in junior high, I was the girl wearing high-top heart-patterned converse, rainbow-striped capris, skipping down the locker hall in our private school making seagull calls (which I discovered a very high scream could sound oddly similar to), and this other girl, this poor soul, was the first one to make a friend in me. Maybe it was pity, or maybe it was out of a moment of weakness. Nevertheless, we’ve been pals ever since.
She recently moved three hours away to go to school to begin on her upper division course work for her major, so I decided, as her first time moving out, having her own little dorm with two very creepy and inconsiderate roommates, I’d do what any good friend would do and send her a little gift.
Unfortunately for her, at the time I sent this gift, I was unemployed, my father gave me money for gas, and I invested six dollars of that money into her very well thought-out gift.
I made it an effort to find the cheapest, creepiest, most random item I could send to her with my six dollars (which also had to cover shipping). What I finally decided upon, without scaring her too much, were 10 pairs of Barbie shoes. I planned to have Amazon gift wrap it and hide the mailing address so she wouldn’t know it was from me.
I thought it was foolproof. What I planned to do after that was wait for her Facebook post about the random package she received, and knowing she received it, I’d wait a few weeks, and then I’d send her another equally creepy package.
Unfortunately for me, literally 5 minutes after I hit, “complete order” on Amazon, I received a text message from said-friend saying that she switched two of the numbers around in her address by accident, and wanted to clarify her real address.
I glanced back at my computer screen, considering whether or not to spend another 6 dollars of gas money to send to the correct address, the very, very important 10 pairs of Barbie shoes.
I sighed at this imperative decision, and then finally decided it wasn’t worth my trouble. Maybe the person who got my package knew somebody with a little girl, and it would all be worth it. It’s like when an author leaves the end of a book up to interpretation and imagination. I chose to imagine a grandmother receiving a package of Barbie shoes and then giving them to her 6 year old Barbie-loving granddaughter at Christmas. Bliss, blissful ignorance, that was the world I chose for myself in that moment.
Fast forward three months to today. I received a text message on my phone with the following picture and the caption: “What in the bloody hell is this and why!?!”
Followed by: “Yeah, I’ve been having a problem getting a few of my packages. I just thought to call the post office here and they had 2 packages of mine. The addresses were switched up. I think I originally texted everybody the wrong address, so that was my bad. How long ago did you send it? And also, WHY!?! Dude, it was the creepiest thing. I wasn’t expecting 2 packages, just 1. Yours came as this little packages with a note taped to the front. In plain black type, it said, ‘Enjoy the shoes, [insert annoying name roommate calls her].’ I was like, ‘WHAT SHOES!?! WHAT THE F*%# IS THIS!?!’ The only way I knew it was you was there was this little thing inside that said, ‘enjoy your gift from [insert my name]’ Otherwise, I probably would have been terrified forever!”
After another pause, this too was followed by, “You don’t even know how creeped out I was! What am I supposed to do with a package of Barbie shoes!?!? I feel like a pedophile!”
Ahhh yes….this made the three months’ wait worth it. Remind me never to be a spy though, because Amazon gave my cover away.
And…dear friend, if you read this blog, you may be happy to know that under “suggested tags” for this article, it recommended I tag “Violence and Abuse.”