When I was a kid I occasionally used to get crank calls from my grandfather. Usually he’d tell me – in a really stern deep voice – that the South London Police wanted me to report to the nearest station because they’d seen me getting up to trouble of some sort.
Most times I twigged on pretty quick that it was a crank call – but not always. And in the first few moments of the call I’d often get butterflies in the stomach at the prospect of having to explain things to the cops or dealing with whatever other ridiculous scenario my grandfather had made up.
Anyway, some years later and I’ve met this nice Indonesian lass – a really attractive hardbody and very smart to boot. But high maintenance. In fact, very high maintenance. Not the sort of chick to have continuously on the go but rather to keep at arms length for the special moments once in a while.
Unfortunately, though, this strategy didn’t work out too well and I lost contact with her. Then, some six months later I bumped into her again. But she quickly crushed any hopes of more fun and games and - pretty brazenly I thought - went on to tell me that she had spent the last few weeks in the UK and Italy on honeymoon with some really nice English businessman that she had met in Jakarta and then quickly married.
…and didn’t I feel pleased for her?
Well not really to tell the truth. Anyway, later on in the day, and I ain’t sure why really - it just sort of came to me as a cool thing to do – I decided to get my own back by making a crank call. So after spending a bit of time devising a believable scenario, I went to a wartel (where they have public telephones) to avoid be traced, settled myself into the chair and called her (note: all names changed to protect the guilty):
Me (in a really deep and wanky British upper class accent): Good afternoon. I’d like to speak with Siti Hidayat.
Her: Er… Speaking
Me: Hello. My name is Huge Mountbatten from the British Embassy. We have reason to believe you have just visited the United Kingdom. Is that correct?
Her (signs of apprehension in her voice): Er..Yes. But how do you know th..
Me (cutting her off): Well, there seems to be a problem with your marriage to Roger…
Her: What exactly is going on here?
Me: I’m not sure how to tell you this… But his ex-wife has raised objections to the marriage. She says their divorce is not legally finalized.
Her: WHAT? He has an ex-wife? ....the bastard!!!
Me: And we are going to need you to go to the UK to sort this out.
Her: The UK!! You must be kidding!
Me: We have purchased you the ticket. The flight leaves tomorrow… British Airways. It’s a good airline.
Her (extremely flustered): But I CAN’T… I’ve got things to do… I’m busy at work!!
Me: The ticket will cost US$2,000.
Her: US$2,000?!!!
Me: And we don’t accept rupiah either…
Her (coming to terms with the situation): Why can’t we just fix this problem in Jakarta?
Me: That is not possible. You HAVE to go to HER MAJESTY’S registry office in the UK to sort this out.
Her (voice breaking up, starting to sob): I just can’t believe it… That F###ING BAS####… (crying)
Me: Look. Maybe we can help you out a bit…
Her (still sniffing, but voice picks up: hopes returning). You can?!! Oh thank you so much!
Me: … Yes we can give you a 10 percent discount on the price of the ticket. If you agree to sit in the back row of the plane.
Her (emotions rising again): But I DON’T WANT to go to England! (more crying, longer this time)
Me: Hi Siti it’s me! ########. Hahahahahahahaha!
Her (short pause, seems like an eternity). ARGGGGGGGG! I HATE YOU, YOU BAS####… F#### YOU ####### F#### YOU F#### YOU…
Me (just trying to get a comment in): hey it was just a joke. Take it easy for God’s sake…
Her: I WILL FIND YOU AND I WILL K### YOU. F### YOU YOU BAS#####. I WILL CUT YOUR FU##### CO## OFF…Anjing!!… Babi!!… Monyet!!… (Slams phone down)
Me: Well enjoy your day too!
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