This was a trolling nine years in the making. It began when I was 14 and ended when I was 23. I never felt that bad about it, because it was mostly harmless, save for one incident I know caused offense and I felt terrible about. On other occasions it bordered on creepy, but I don't think it ever crossed the line from weird to threatening.
I was 14 and bored and waiting to be picked up at a YMCA. In an attempt to hold the boredom at bay I started messing with a pay phone. Again, I was 14, so naturally I dialed 1-800-NUT-SACK. It was the answering machine of a man name Marty who worked for Gulf Stream international. I didn't think much of it, then got picked up. A week later, however, I was at school and came across a pay phone. I once again dialed 1-800-NUT-SACK, and this time instead of hanging up I left a message posing as Marty's long lost friend, Bill. It's been years, so I can't pinpoint my reasoning behind it, and I certainly can't say that I had a grand scheme. As far as I can tell I just did it because I'm a weirdo.
This is a rough example of what that first message might have been like - "Heya, Marty, it's Bill. I'm in town for the weekend, thought maybe you'd want to grab a drink or something. Alright, pal, you know the number!"
Again, I don't think I had anything in mind beyond that first message, but from that point on every time I would see a pay phone I would call my old friend Marty and leave a message. The messages were largely similar - I was always just getting into town, and I always wanted to grab a drink. Sometimes I would invite him to a strip club, other times I would simply tell him I was sitting in the dark thinking about him and wanted to chat.
This went on for nine years. Every month of two I would stumble across a pay phone and pick it up to call Marty. In my mind, I thought maybe he hated these and was somehow tracking them (I was an imaginative teenager), so I made sure to call from pay phones in different states and countries to throw him off my tracks. I called from New York, Florida, California, Mexico, Iceland, South Carolina, Nevada, wherever I happened to be.
The only time I ever felt bad was when I called him on my 21st birthday. I was enormously drunk and in this blurry state I called from my cell phone and left a message. The contents of that message are foggy, but I know I mentioned taking his sister to prom. The only reason I know this is because he called me back the next morning and left his own message. I unfortunately don't have that message anymore, but it went something like this - "Hey, Bill, it's Marty. I don't appreciate these messages you've been leaving me. And I don't appreciate what you said about my sister. She died several years ago. If you continue to leave these messages I will turn them over to the sheriff and take legal action."
This was the only time I ever felt bad about these messages. In my defense I had no idea who this man was, or whether he even had a sister. Turns out he did and she died, but I can hardly be blamed for that. After that I stopped calling for a couple months, but then picked up where I left off. I didn't call from my cell phone ever again, and I made sure to try and avoid personal subjects, as much as one can when they don't know anything about someone. This only lasted another year and half before Marty's number was disconnected. In retrospect I wish I had actually learned what his last name was. He said it on his answering machine, but I could never understand what he was saying. I've tried in vain to find out who this man was and how to get a hold of him to no avail. I guess I want to reach out to him somehow to get closure on the whole thing. Maybe I just want to know that he was ok with my messages. I always felt like I would enjoy messages like that, but I can see why someone wouldn't. Marty, if you're out there, I hope you're doing well. I feel like over the course of those nine years we shared together a real bond was formed, albeit a strange one, but a bond nonetheless. I still think about you from time to time, I hope you think of me.