Horrible Prank: This 911 Operator Is Pretending That I Called A Marshall’s
Whether you’re liberal, conservative, or a chiropractor, I think we can all agree that the ‘80s were a crazy time. The Crusades had famously ended 488 years ago, video had killed the radio star, and I had accidentally killed my next-door neighbor, Randel, in the summer of ‘83, via wood-chipper. Nuts, right?
However, as the decades have gone on, so has my life. I went to college, got married, destroyed crucial evidence, had children, secured a career, avoided detectives, bought a house, put my kids through school, visited the grave, vomited, got the big promotion, became a grandfather, repressed guilt — and also bought a Keurig! Yet no matter how many Deadpool Funko Pops I had, I still didn’t feel complete. There was a huge weight on my daily shaven chest that I needed to get rid of.
After taking off my weighted vest, I realized that oh, maybe I should also finally confess to that time in 1983 that I “accidentally” brutally demolished my neighbor Randel in his own wood-chipper. Even though it’s a super funny story, my best friend, who also happens to be my lawyer, gave me some cool advice that I shouldn’t share now because then it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.
Come the other day, I was feeling ready to confess. When I thought about what to do, I scrapped the idea of going to his family to give them closure, because that seemed like too much work. Instead, I decided to do things from the comfort of my Stewie Griffin sweatpants in my Man Cave. I picked up my phone and dialed “911.”
As my meaty, sweaty fingers hit the tiny buttons of my 2011 Blackberry loaded with Brick Breaker, I was concerned that I might accidentally be pressing three numbers at a time. Ignoring the fact that there were seven number beeps instead of three, however, I pressed call.
To my surprise, the 911 operator answered the phone with an ill-intentioned joke: “Thank you for calling Marshall’s, this is Patricia speaking.”
Now, look. I’m always one for a good prank — like that time I snuck up on my neighbor Randel when he was using his wood-chipper — but this seemed inappropriate. Nevertheless, I powered through. “Hello,” I began. “My name is Sarp and I would like to confess to the 1983 murder of Randel Hughes.” In keeping with their bad manners, however, they interrupted right away.
“Uh… excuse me? You know this is a Marshall’s, right? Did you… maybe want to hear about our half-off men’s hoodies? We have a sale on quarter zips.” As rude as it was for them to keep up this prank, I decided to continue, since I’m a such good sport — like that time I tried to prank my neighbor Randel and barely got upset when he didn’t take it well at all.
“I have the location of the body,” I said. “There are two separate dig sites: one for the bones and one for the blood. The head is in orbit.” As I felt relief surge through my body, I awaited the operator’s response.
“Sir… seriously, this is the Marshall’s on School Street. My name is Nina and I work the register. I do not know who Randel Hughes is and I’m honestly terrified of you. I am going to hang up now. Please get help.”
Before I knew it, the call was dropped. It was a shame that the operator seemed to be working on the go and happened to drive through a tunnel just before I could give them the locations of Randel, who was honestly a little bitch when it came to handling a scare.
I guess if there are any young kids reading this, the lesson here is that sometimes your heroes aren’t really heroes after all. 911 operators may seem like noble people, but they’re actually just cruel pranksters that like to torture man-cave dwellers and one-time “accidental” first-degree murderers like me.
At the end of the day, though, I finally got that guilt off of my chest. Randel’s family may never have gotten their closure, but all that matters is that the big game is on in five, and me and my Stewie Griffin sweatpants have a date with my Man Cave recliner.
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