So this all starts out innocently enough from me wanting to de-clutter my life. As a child (an incredibly gay one that is) I had collected the Department 56 Dickens Village, which for those of you who don't know are incredibly overpriced ceramic lighted villages(see the above photo), that one decorates their home with during the Christmas Holiday. The average piece sells for around $75. Which, in retrospect, for a child to collect is completely ridiculous. Nonetheless, my incredibly overbearing mother had encouraged it and alas, I followed her lead, spending what I can only assume was thousands of dollars of hard earned money that I had earned mowing yards and performing various other jobs. I am getting a bit off topic here; I decided that since I would be moving into a smaller apartment and since I had recently embraced minimalism, that it was finally time for me to part with the Christmas Village that I had spent years of my childhood and adolescents collecting.
I opted to place an ad in a local gay newspaper, because alas, who besides The Gays can appreciate a mint condition Department 56 Christmas Village. A few weeks go by and in this time I have sold the entire collection to a woman who was all sorts of crazy(this is another story for another time), when I get a call at work on my cell phone from a man, "I am interested in the village you have for sale," he says. At this point, I explain to him that I have already sold the collection at which point he switches gears and inquires about the area code of my telephone number. I have had the same number for years, since college, but it is the same area code as the far North Dallas Suburb, Denton. So he asks "how long have you lived in Denton?" I at this point begin to explain to him the circumstance, and that I now reside in the Oaklawn Area of Dallas, which is famously the gayborhood of Dallas.
As soon as he hears Oaklawn, he asks if I know of any good massage therapists. I, at this point tell him that I do indeed and I recommend the guy I get regular massages from, thinking he could probably use the extra business, given the state of the economy. Before my masseur's name even spills out of my already concerned and confused mouth, he immediately follows up with, "does he give happy endings?" No, I reply and he is quite adamantly opposed as a matter of interest. "What, don't you like happy endings" he says. I at this point am completely dumbfounded by the frank nature of the conversation, not to mention that this conversation is taking place, while I am at work in my cubicle, where I am positive that multiple staff members are overhearing. I at this point start stumbling over my words and acknowledge the fact that he is being quite forward. He then proceeds to offer me his massage services and says that he could give me a happy ending, to which I struggle to get off of the phone and end the conversation. I would love to know how I ended the call, but honestly I must have blocked it from my memory, along with a fair portion of my childhood, due to the traumatic nature of the exchange.
As soon as the call is over, I immediately google his phone number along with the name he gave me. It turns out, he is a Real Estate Agent in the Suburbs. It was the first site to pop up on my search. On the site, I also see a photo of him and his wife, who I can only assume for whom he was inquiring about the village. Again, it is pretty crazy what people will try and get away with when they think no one is watching. I think he must have been naive to the fact that that with as little as his phone number, I could find out all I needed to know. I even find out about his many accolades as a realtor, turns out he is one of the 2008 top 100 Realtors according to D Magazine. If this was a trashy tabloid, I would print his name, web address and even slap up a photo, but alas I am a lady...so instead, I will keep this info in my back pocket, ya know, should I ever need it...
Lesson to all, people are listening and watching, and they will Google you!!! So beware...
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