I Just Got A Call From Myself And My Brain Is Officially Broken

There I was, minding my business, sitting at my desk. Just got out of the new weekly Twitch Conspiracy hour featuring Jack Mac and Mush. Drinking some water, discussing how friendly Canadians are with Grinnelli and Super Producer Logan. They said Canadian Maple syrup was better than Vermont, I hostilely disagreed.

And then I saw my phone light up on my desk. A phone call, something I’m quick to ignore. I was ready to turn my head back towards my coworkers to continue our important conversation when I glanced at the caller ID. Me? Who the fuck is Me? Did I meet Meek Mill, acquire his number and forget to finish typing out his name while saving the digits? Feels unlikely. So I let it ring out.

Because I know myself. There’s no chance I would ever call me under any circumstance. If Future Me was in a bind and had to relay a message to modern day Me there’s a zero percent chance I’d choose phone call as the mode of communication. Because I don’t answer the phone. And I know that about me. And if I were to ever call me I’d know I wouldn’t pick up so I’d leave a voicemail, yelling at myself for being an idiot who doesn’t answer the phone. And I didn’t get any voicemail, so nice try imposter. Gotta wake up pretty early in the morning in the future to slip one past Me Me.

But the conundrum now is that I’ve only ruled out one possibility. There are a million other possibilities with no way of knowing the answer. The most likely of which being “hacked by Russian spies” but I already believed that to be true of everyone’s phones. Just a real mindfuck of a wrench thrown into my day that I didn’t ask for and certainly don’t need.

PS – Receiving that call at 3:16 on the dot has something to do with the answer. You don’t get mysterious calls from yourself at 2:26 or 10:42 and that’s just a fact.

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