An Alien World Tried To Recruit Me
Since being chased out of a fabled drinking establishment in Greenspoint, Texas, few things have rattled the inner fibres of my binary existence.
However, an email received by an imposing Spanish gentleman called Jorge came very close.
There I was, slowly sauntering in the general direction of a unpopular fast-food outlet, Mr Chicken – if you must know, (KFC rip-off, but I like the ambience. Plus, only every third leg is probably pigeon. Good odds).
My travels had a soundtrack – with a defiant mood in place, I was enjoying the ultra-soothing satisfaction that only a Demi Lovato album track can bring.
Upbeat, mellow and generally enjoying life, I felt a fluttering vibration that usually means a notification has been delivered to my mobile phone device. As expected, a green light began to flash. Jackpot – someone wanted my attention.
Let’s cut to the chase. I’m not the kind of guy that can just leave a flashing light or an application demanding my viewership to hang around like a lingering graphical nuisance. I often catch a peak at strangers’ screens and they have 1,648 unread emails or 59 disregarded social media notifications. WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE? How does it not bother you? HOW. And no, I won’t stop looking at your screens. If I want to read your wife’s grocery demands, then corr blimey, don’t even bother trying to stop my hustle – I will continue to do so until the heroic day I leave this planet.
So, Jorge. It’s time to introduce this Spanish marvel. He’s 27-years-old and enjoys long walks, apparently.
How do I have access to this mainframe of information?
Because he said hello to me via a social networking website called Drinking Partners.com and his profile claimed such things. Technically, he didn’t even say hello directly to me. In fact, he had the joy of affectionately hurling the greeting in the vicinity of ‘Member 5122’ – my trusty alias that I never even knew existed.
Drinking Partners.com has triumphantly blasted open an alien world. And for a lifetime membership fee of £19.95, I could gain unlimited access to it. For all I know, Jorge is destined to be the best man at my future wedding – or he might be a complete nutjob who steals my identity and burns my apartment until it’s reduced to a shredded and ashy Demi Lovato album cover. Perish the thought.
I was caught in a world of panic. The mystery surrounding the episode was too intriguing to merely mark the email as spam – and be cut off from any further interaction from people that potentially wanted to throw a Hello in my direction.
An hour passed. Silence. I sensed my indecisiveness had caused a fat man to shout outside the entrance of Mr Chicken.
Another notification swiftly arrived. Was it news that ‘Marooned in Aggieland’ had finally broken past the sky scraping hurdle of twenty customer reviews on Amazon, or that I’d mustered enough Subcard points to earn a free breakfast? No, it was that plucky customer, Jorge – again.
This time, hello wasn’t enough. Instead, the title read, ‘Jorge has just winked at you. Sign up now to respond!’
Sadly, I wasn’t content with that kind of party. Nor had I expected things to escalate so quickly. Likewise, I found it suspicious that Jorge had sent his follow-up email exactly-to-the-minute one hour after our primary encounter. Had he been hovering over the ‘send’ button impatiently for the last sixty-minutes? Alarm bells started to ring.
Eventually, a conclusion naturally formed. Jorge wasn’t after my friendship, just my £19.95 membership fee. In actual truth, I’d be amazed if Jorge is his real name.
Moral of the story: If an email is addressed to ‘Member 5122’ from a website you’ve never heard of, you should probably ignore it.
Follow on Twitter: @GigEmNation
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