PETE:
or should i say pat? lol.
PETE:
got your number from rick. sorry to message so early—don’t feel like you have to respond or anything. i just wanted to touch base. this is a little crazy, right?
PETE:
also if you are not ben and rick’s given me the wrong number again: i’m very sorry to whoever you are, my boss is unbelievably bad at using his phone. please tell me if you are anyone other than ben blumenthal and i’ll leave you to your morning. thanks.
Ben stares at his phone for a moment, his half-awake but already fully panicked brain not entirely sure what to do with this. His thumbs seem to move of their own accord.
BEN:
“A little crazy?” Are you kidding me? It’s completely insane! How did all these people find me?! Have you ever dealt with anything like this before? Because I have to tell you, my life is NOT usually this interesting.
BEN:
Also, yes, this is Ben.
BEN:
Also: What do you mean Rick sends out the wrong phone numbers? Do I need to start bracing for phone calls meant for…uh, whoever else Rick talks to?
Ben sits and stares at his phone after sending this for longer than is acceptable. An amount of time that some might callfoolish. Ridiculous. Pathetic. When he catches himself at it, he scowls and puts the phone down; it’s not like he cares that Pete texted him, anyway. It’s not like it matters if Pete replies.
He gets up, mostly out of spite, and tries to ignore the various frantic dings from his phone. When that doesn’t work, he silences it, quickly feeds Roux before she can start yowling at him, and then makes himself some breakfast. What breakfast that is he couldn’t quite say—it seems, as he eats it, to be cereal with fruit, but he doesn’t exactly remember putting it together, as though it happened entirely on muscle memory. Maybe he’s still asleep? And this is all a dream? But Ben doesn’t think his dreams would have a message from a lady looking to hire him to revitalize her channel aboutcockatoo taxidermy; his subconscious is simply not that creative. He can’t remember the last time he even thought about a cockatoo.
Towards the end of the cereal, his control breaks, and he looks at his phone again. He flips past notifications as quickly as he can, trying not to read them, until he sees:
PETE:
probably no need to worry about rick; half the time i think he does it just to screw with me. but maybe look up any number he gives you before dialing, lol. one time i called what i thought was a source at betty crocker and instead was the state game and wildlife commissioner? asked her about cake mix, it didn’t go great
PETE:
and yeah, i’ve dealt with something like this before. or sorta like it, anyway. plus, i’ve talked to rick, which i bet you haven’t, because he’s on a fishing trip this weekend and he’s seriously peeved that he has to think about anything but walleye.
PETE:
here are the three rules of going viral: don’t talk to anyone you don’t know, don’t post anything publicly, and don’t look at your phone unless you absolutely have to, until we’ve had a chance to circle up with rick. turn it off, ideally, and def turn off all your notifications. nothing good comes of a panicked reply while something’s still popping off. gotta get our ducks in a row before we shoot them.
PETE:
that’s what rick said before he hung up on me, anyway. always possible he meant literally, though, since i’m only eighty percent sure it’s a fishing trip.
PETE:
maybe he just really hates mallards
Ben laughs, a little surprised by being entertained enough to do so, at this last. Then he fiddles with his spoon for a minute, rattling it back and forth against the side of the cereal dish, thinking. Unfortunately, in his haze of bewilderment, he neglected to make himself anycoffee, so the results of that thinking are…a mixed bag.
BEN:
That seems like solid advice; thanks.
BEN:
