READER SUBMITTED CONTENT There are two types of fuck-ups in this world: There are the fuck-ups who can hold certain numbers in their phone and not delete them, and there are the fuck-ups who cannot hold certain numbers in their phone and delete them (usually at the height of self-inflicted misery).

There are two types of fuck-ups in this world: There are the fuck-ups who can hold certain numbers in their phone and not delete them, and there are the fuck-ups who cannot hold certain numbers in their phone and delete them (usually at the height of self-inflicted misery).

Allow me to explain: You are either one or the other, you see. After a particularly late-night that has maybe led you into an unpleasant please-shut-those-birds-up morning, do you delete certain numbers from your phone in a sad attempt at never calling those numbers again? Or do you just deal, leaving those numbers in your phone, knowing good and well that you will eventually need those numbers again? Like next week maybe. Like tomorrow night maybe.

I am one of those who can hold a number.I’m a holder. I don’t delete anything because it’s against my constitution. See, I know myself, and I know I will use those numbers again. Hopefully not forever, but for now, yeah, probably, I will need them again. However, and most unfortunately, the majority of my friends are those who delete those numbers, usually very early in the morning after having stayed up too late, having pushed their psyche just a little too far. They make promises to themselves:

“I am done with this.”

“I am getting too old for this.”

“I will never need those numbers again.”

“I will never need those numbers again, but if I do I can always call my friend, The Coke Bear!”

I have a steady four or five of these friends who know I’m a Number-Holder. So that means, pretty much every Friday and Saturday night, and a few times during the week, I get calls or texts from my these friends saying, “Can you text me —-’s and —-’s numbers?” Reluctantly, I say, “Sure,” and then I text my friends those numbers. I always attach a message to the text that says: “Please don’t delete it this time. I’m sick of doing this. Please.” But do they ever listen? They never ever listen. They always delete. Delete delete delete. And then they always call me a few days later and make me text them the numbers again. Over and over and over.

See, the difference between these two people is, to me, quite clear: The ones who can hold the numbers are what I call “Rational Human Beings.” They are realistic. I like these people. While the others, the Number-Deleters, are delusional and, inevitably, annoying. Now, you might be thinking, “Don’t be such a dick, man. Just give your friends the numbers.” I hear you on this. I really do. I am a generous guy and am very laid-back. I’d give you the shirt off my back. I really would. But a couple shirts a week? With at least four or five different people? That leaves me without even any skin, and I’m just trying to say, it gets maddening. I hate having to dig up those numbers, borrow a pen, write the numbers down on a pack of matches or a napkin (because my memory is shit), and then text them to whichever deleter happens to need them at the moment. I am not the fucking operator. No, I am not.

What I am, though, is a fucking genius. I found a way out of this situation. I hatched a super dickish plan. Allow me to explain: In the middle of December, 2009, I sent out a mass text message (just to those four or five friends) stating that beginning January 1st of 2010, a transaction of $20 must appear in my PayPal account in order to get those numbers. Once the money has been transferred, a text with those numbers will be sent to your phone along with a thank you. I gave them a two weeks’ grace period where they could freely bother me for the numbers (and hopefully not delete them again). I thought that was fair.

Now, you might be grimacing and thinking, “You are the biggest fucking dick in the world!” If you are thinking this, then you are one of those people that don’t know themselves well enough to know not to delete a number that you will most likely need in a few days, probs. You are a Number-Deleter and you are probably a huge annoyance to one or more of your friends. However, if you’re thinking, “Wow, yeah, that might be kind of dickish, but good idea,” then you are probably one of the Number-Holders. You know yourself. You know your shit. Thank you for being a man.

(If none of this makes any sense at all to you, you’re doing just fine.)

So far, two full months into the year, I have not had to text any numbers to anyone. My bluff (it was really just a bluff) of charging the $20 worked and I think I helped my friends learn a little about themselves. They’ve either quit altogether (ha!) or they’ve learned to be a holder. Whichever it is, they learned a very important lesson of New York City life: Telephones don’t dial coke dealers’ numbers. Fingers do.

-THE COKE BEAR

Send “Open Mics” to SBTVC@StreetCarnage.com

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