Back when I was living in Brooklyn, my roommate Ivanka and I used to send each other cryptic messages on the missed connections boards on craigslist. We'd write things like "What does wine + Bret Michaels equal? Us...tonight..VH1. See you on the west end of the couch." This was how we entertained ourselves for most of 2006 at our jobs that we hated. She, a receptionist at a headhunting firm and me an associate at an iconic fashion house.
After I had asked Ben to leave when he referred to our two months spent together as a casual sex arrangement, I wrote an anonymous and cryptic note on the missed connections section gently voicing my confusion about the neighbor fuck buddy debacle. I'm not sure why I did this, perhaps to serve as a cathartic way of expressing my disappointment, or maybe I was foreshadowing this blog? I really don't know but I did it. I published the simple two line post and went to sleep not expecting much from it.
The following morning at work, I found an e-mail waiting for me from the missed connections post...from Ben. Ben?! I had never talked about this message board with him before and couldn't believe that after he left my apartment, he went on to craiglist, read and responded to this post that could or couldn't have been from me. It was all too fucking weird.
I opened the e-mail and this is the gem that I found:
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected] ([email protected])
Re: Neighbor Disconnect!
You wanted more and it was never that serious between us. Move on. Don't get all psycho...
B
What a little punk. I wanted more? "More" is not wanting to be labeled a fuck buddy? How demanding of me...and don't even get me started on the psycho remark. Once again, this is why I don't date American men anymore.
My boss hadn't come in yet, so I called Kitty at her office and quickly recapped what had happened. "What a loser," she said while slurping her coffee, "No, really, when I met him he thought he was hipster hot shit. I'm going to take care of this." I forgot that I had introduced Kitty to Ben one night in the hallway and he was aghast because Kitty didn't know who the band Clap Your Hands Say Yeah were. The girl came out of the wall at her wedding, dancing to Rhianna. There is no way that she was going to know the band Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. That guy was such an ass.
"What are you going to do?" I asked her, worried yet intrigued what she had up her sleeve. "Just forward the e-mail to me and let me handle it." I've known Kitty since we were 12 so I trusted that she wouldn't embarrass me and sent her the e-mail.
Two hours later I received a forwarded e-mail correspondence from Kitty that read:
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Fw: Neighbor Disconnect!
This guy is a douche. Call me later.
You're welcome and please...don't do this ever again!
--Forwarded message--
From: [email protected]
To: b@douchebag.com
Re: Neighbor Disconnect!
Hi...
Is this Brad who lives in Gramercy Park?
If it is, I'm really hurt by your e-mail but I guess I have to accept it. I'll see you around the building.
Best,
Stacey
From: [email protected]
To: stacey@idontexist.com
Re: Neighbor Disconnect!
Oh, I feel kind of dumb. I thought you were my neighbor Ella who I guess wasn't sweating me much as I thought. I hope everything works out with you and Brad. Sorry for the mix-up.
Ben
I never laughed so hard at work in my life. Upon reading the fake e-mail from "Stacey", I practically spit out my Pret-a-Manger sandwich as I stared back at her handy work. She knew that I'd never go through the trouble of making a fake e-mail and since it wasn't tax season, she had some extra time on her hands to mastermind this. It was genius.
Up until this weekend, this was my last correspondence with Ben. He had moved out of the building a month later without telling me, never to be heard from again. A few months later I was transferred downtown to work at the corporate office of my favorite designer where I met my French bosses and Georges...this was when my life completely changed.
