“Call Jenny for a good time.”

I read this text scrawled onto the wall of the stall as I finished my business and prepared to exit the restroom. Don’t ask me why I called the number, but I had seen things like that for most of my life and I was curious. I entered the number on my phone and let it ring. Within a few rings, a woman answered saying, “Who’s this?”

I didn’t want to lead with, “Hey I was taking a dump over at the Circle K and saw your phone number.”

So I went with, “Uh yeah, this is Blake. Are we still on for Friday?”

The woman replied, “Wrong number.”

I quickly responded, “This is Jenny, right?”

The woman paused for a moment and said, “Yeah this is Jenny, but I don’t know a Blake.”

I went out on a limb and thought of the trashiest dive bar in town and said, “Oh, well sorry. I was at Club Oasis last week and I met this cute girl named Jenny and she gave me this number. Sorry to bother you.”

The woman said, “Man, I was so wasted last weekend. I don’t even remember giving you my number. So Blake, refresh my memory. What do you look like?”

I thought about it for a second and decided to be mostly honest. I replied, “White guy, six-foot-three, about two-hundred pounds, in my earlier 30s. Usually drinking Pabst…”

Jenny was silent for a moment and said, “Man, I don’t remember you but you sound cute. What are you doing later tonight?”

I replied, “Well, I was thinking about heading back up to Club O and grabbing a beer. If I see you I see you if I don’t I don’t.”