The day after the unfortunate phone call with Yoga Guy, I found myself torn between trying to forget it had ever happened and looking him up on Facebook to see the face that went with that god-awful 15 minutes. I finally took the plunge and looked him up, but to my surprise I couldn’t find him. I tried various spellings of his first and last names, and nothing. I then searched through my sis-in-law’s Facebook friends to track him down, and still nothing. I figured this must be a job for Google, so I tried that and guess what? Nothing. I was in shock. In this day and age, it takes a lot of work to have ZERO digital footprint, and yet he’s managed it. Meanwhile, typing in my own name turns up every account, site and list that I’ve ever been on- pages and pages of hits! I wouldn’t know how to get rid of them all if I tried.
Very impressive Yoga Guy, very impressive.
Later on in the week I realized that I was no longer able to make our Tuesday date, so I wanted to contact him to reschedule ASAP. I checked the Recent Calls in my phone to get his number so I can text him when I remembered that this whole thing started with his private number (in case you’re keeping count, he has a private number and no digital footprint- I was starting to get suspicious). Anyway, I asked my sis-in-law for his number and to my for real, legitimate surprise, she said she didn’t have it, and sent me the only contact info she had, which was his email address. It felt a little intrusive to email this guy who I had spoken to just that one special time, so I figured I’d wait it out until I heard from him. In the meantime, I noticed that his email address was his firstname.lastname@example.org, which seemed kind of fake if you ask me. Seriously dude, do you even really exist? Are you wanted in all 50 states?
A few nights later, I had finally managed to block this whole situation from my mind when I saw a missed call and voicemail from private number. Clearly Mr. Private Everything was calling to confirm our date. I checked my voicemail which, if you’re like me, you haven’t done since 2016, and thank goodness that a) I remembered my password, and b) he left me his number. I took it down and hung up faster than you can say shoot me so I wouldn’t have to hear another second of his PTSD-inducing voice. I then sent him a quick text about rescheduling our date (as if I was going to call, ha!) and felt instantly relieved that my job with this stupidity was done.
The message bounced right back! I wish I was joking but I swear I’m not. It said I had just voted for some participant to win some competition. Excuse me? What? Was I being Punk’d? Yes, that must be it. I proceeded to check my bathroom and my apartment corridor, but Ashton Kutcher was nowhere to be found. I just couldn’t catch a break. Maybe I was being punished…. like it was karma for being bitchy about this whole situation, though if that was the case then it was totally worth it 😉
So I resorted to sending an awkward email to the potentially fake address I had because what else was I supposed to do at this point, and explained that I’m a dummy who took down the wrong number from his voicemail and bla bla bla. To be honest I was a little embarrassed about having to email him at all, I mean who’s the loser now, amirite? Thankfully it was the correct email address and he wrote back right away saying he was good to reschedule, and gave me his number again for next time. I wrote it down next to the wrong number I already had, curious how wrong I had it the first time. Guess what. Very wrong. Every-single-digit-was-different type of wrong. Whaaat? After 3 full minutes of laughing so hard in disbelief that I was crying, I walked to my kitchen and poured myself an Olivia Pope sized glass of wine.
Here’s to you, Yoga Guy, you better not disappoint.