When my parents asked me where I wanted to go for my senior trip with the family, I of course said Cincinnati. So maybe it wasn’t the most typical place to go, but I am not the most typical person. I just so happened to be a big fan of the Cincinnati Reds, and I loved amusement parks. Cincinnati has a park called Kings Island that has some pretty rad roller coasters, so that was the place.
I had saved all my money from working at Target and my paper route, so as far as I know, I was the richest I had ever been in my life. Meaning I had $140 of disposable income and I was going to spend it all. On souvenir’s, Red’s Gear, and all manner of junk food. On the first day, I attacked King’s Island with reckless abandon. I rode all the rides, I drank in the atmosphere and had the time of my life. When I got off the water ride that splashed all the people on the bridge, I reached for my back pocket. Bitterness learched into stomach. The lump that contained my life savings at the time was missing. Frantically, I asked people if they had seen it, asked the lost and found if they had a wallet turned in and I knew for sure they were hiding it from me.
All my money, my social security card, my senior pictures of all the hot girls, my library card, gone. My life was shattered. I learned something that day. First of all, however pickpocketed it is going to pay, whether in this life or the next. I will not rest until I find you. I will get that money and pictures back. And the other lesson is, don’t carry your wallet in your back pocket.
Another thing you shouldn’t do? Carry your phone in your back pocket. I have a phone, but it isn’t for the purposes of talking on it. I don’t know how that app appeared on my phone and I’m doing my best to delete it, but it won’t delete. Anyways, there is a reason why I don’t give this number out.
For some reason though, the few people that do have it call me sometimes with it. Sometimes they have a reason, but most of the time, it is only their butt that is trying to call me. In just one day, (yesterday) 100% of my parents butts decided to call me. Their butts are apparently highly intelligent users of phones, because they themselves both struggle to figure out how to use the phone. Yet, here they are, with no reason to call me, calling me with their butts.
This creates a problem. Now that they have called me, I have to call them back. The conversation starts out in a very awkward fashion, as I have to talk to them about their butts, but then they decide they need to talk more. And they want to know things. Like what is going on with my life. And no one wants to hear or talk about that.
I just need them to use what they butts are made for. Sitting on the couch and being comfortable. If we start letting our butts do anything more than that, then they will want to start getting benefits, like 401K and time off. And my butt can’t start thinking that it is allowed any sort of day off from sitting.
So folks, take your phones out of your back pockets and put them in your front, or in your purse or even in your hands, because this butt dialing must stop.
Bitter Butt Dialing Victim Ben