Early evening. The phone rings. It’s the house phone, since these were the days before mobiles, at least for me.

“Hello!” I said in a chipper tone, assuming it was someone I knew because I’d never had the displeasure of advertisers or robo callers calling me.

Someone was breathing on the other end, but not speaking.

“Hello?”

More breathing.

After the third “Hello,” and adding, “Who is this?” with no response other than heavier breathing, I hung up.

Weird, I thought, but without concern.

I went about my tasks without giving the strange call another thought, until a bit later when the phone rang again and my jaunty “Hello!” was met with more heavy breathing.

I didn’t even give that a second thought or query. I hung up immediately.

And the same with the third such call.

And the fourth.

By that time, I was getting pissed. What the hell! Who was this person, and why was he targeting me?

When the phone rang once again, I was ready with more than just a hang-up.

After my rude “Hello!” and brief wait to make sure it was the same weirdo, from hearing the breathing, and then some added grunts and moans, I said, “Why do you do this?”

More grunts, groans, and moans, as if I was going to be turned on by them, I’d guessed, but they didn’t stop there. The dialog began, “I want to fuck you!” Groan, moan, grunt.

“I really want to know why you do this?” I asked again. “Do you actually think it’s a turn-on for the person you are calling to listen to you breathing, or saying what you just said?”

As I waited for a reply, I looked out the window at the black night from no street lights nearby and shivered. Why was I talking to this guy?

When there was no reply, I continued.

“Trust me, it’s not a turn-on, and if that is your expectation, then you’ve just wasted some valuable time. You could be doing so many other things with your time, don’t you think?”

No surprise that I still received no reply, just more of the same moan, groan, “I want to fuck you!” monolog.

“Stop!” I said sternly, “and answer my question. Why do you do this? What do you expect of the person you’ve called? Surely you don’t get any positive responses, do you? No one is throwing themselves at you, saying, ‘Oh yes! I want you to fuck me! Please! I’m so glad you called!’” Then I laughed at my own words.

“Do you really expect that? No, you know you won’t get anything other than hearing the phone slammed down in your ear, and possibly a busy signal from a person finally leaving the phone off the hook, because they are tired of your antics. Am I right?” I waited. The heavy breathing stopped.

More gently, with the hopes of getting a verbal response with an actual dialog, I repeated my question, “Why do you do this? I am sincere in wanting to know the answer to that question. What do you get out of the time spent dialing numbers and then just breathing in the phone, or saying ugly things to people? Do you like people getting pissed off at you; is that your motive? Just tell me, because I really do want to know why you do this?”

A male voice finally answered, “Because I have nothing else to do. I’m bored.”

“Really? That’s your only reason?”

“Well, no. I don’t have many friends, people don’t seem to like me, so I don’t get to talk to people in a normal way. At least this gets a verbal response from most, eventually. I’m making a difference in their lives, even if it is a negative one.”

“You sound pretty intelligent,” I told him, “so can’t you think of more positive ways to get people to talk to you?”

“No, not really,” he answers. “I’m too shy. I don’t know what to say to people to start a conversation. I’m not good-looking like many guys who have no trouble talking to girls or anybody else,” he tells me, “and so I have to make these calls, which is like disguising myself, just to feel like I’m having a conversation.”

The voice I was hearing sounded vaguely familiar. Was it someone I knew or used to know? That possibility gave me a chill. But I couldn’t come up with a face to go with that kinda familiar voice, so I just kept talking, hoping it would come to me.

“Well, that’s pretty sad,” I stated. “But, I can think of more positive ways to get a conversation going, unless, of course, you just want to get off by making people upset with your heavy breathing and ugly words, and that’s your true motive. If that’s the case, buy a ‘girly magazine’ to help you with that chore, and leave the unsuspecting people alone.”

“What are some of the positive ideas for making conversation?” he asked.

“You can call a number and tell whoever answers that you hope they have had a nice day. If you get a favorable response, you can tell that person you would like to ask about their day, for example, if they want to know why you’re asking, you can always make up some valid sounding reason. I bet it would work.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It might not always work, because there are some people who are just wary, or won’t like their time in front of the tube interrupted, and might be rude to you, but at least you tried, and were nice to them. They will think about that, but in a good way, not a bad.”

“You really think that would work?” He asked.

“Ultimately, I do! At least you’ll be doing something good instead of bad, and that should make you feel better as a person. And isn’t that the main reason you are doing this heavy-breathing, sex thing, because you don’t feel good about yourself?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Then it makes sense to be the good guy, not the bad, which should make you start feeling better about yourself. Don’t you think?”

“Maybe. But I’m just not sure I want to try what you’re suggesting.”

The conversation was then starting to go in a direction that I didn’t want it to go. I realized the guy’s voice was sounding more like Squiggy on Lavern and Shirley, and I knew that this wasn’t anyone I’ve known, which made me feel relieved. But since I’d gotten my answer, and had given some good advice, I thought, I now needed to get off the phone. I didn’t want to stay in this conversation any longer. I wasn’t a therapist, needing to hold this guy’s hand when giving advice. I just wanted him to stop making those stupid, annoying and disgusting phone calls, especially to me. If my words and concern would make a difference for this guy’s attitude and outlook, more the better, but I wasn’t out to get the Mother Teresa award for good deeds; I was just looking out for my own peace of mind.

To get to the end of this conversation I’d started, I said, “It’s up to you what you do. You answered my question, which I appreciate, and I gave you an alternative, a suggestion for making you feel better about yourself. What you do now with that suggestion, only you can say. I’m going to hang up now, and wish you luck with your life. I hope you will make some changes for the better. So, with that said, good luck and goodbye.” And I hung up the phone.

I held my breath for a few seconds, in anticipation of the phone ringing again. But since it didn’t, I let out a ‘whoosh’ and kept my fingers crossed that our conversation was good for him. I sat near the phone as the minutes ticked by, just in case I needed to take it off the hook, but it stayed silent.

I was beginning to feel rather pleased with myself and dared hope that the guy took my words to heart.

The week slipped by, my routine back to normal, and I began to forget about the conversation I’d had with the obscene phone caller. That is until late one night, just before I was ready to turn off the light to let sleep take me to dreamland when the phone rang. I picked up the receiver and said, “Hello.”

I heard heavy breathing on the other end, and a familiar voice saying, “I really do want to fuck you!”

My Conversation with an Obscene Phone Caller

Making Our Way Down to Mexico

The Ghost of Black Hawk