In Which I Am A Creepy Stalker

18 Jan

So I’m sitting in the Bulletin office, putting together our first
issue of the semester. All the stories are coming in, except for one.
The front page, above-the-fold story. The only one for which we have
art.

I call the writer. She doesn’t answer.

I call again.

Again.

Now it’s 7:30, the article is four hours late. I go on facebook and
find a mutual friend. She gives me the name of the writer’s best
friend and roommate.

I then call another acquaintance to get the phone number of this girl.

I call her. No answer.

I call again.

Facebook friend tells me which building they live in.

I go to that building, walk around until I find a door with their
names on it, and knock.

Third roommate answers. I ask where the writer is.

“Last I saw, she posted a picture on facebook from Jack and Dan’s.”

Not being 21, I couldn’t stalk her there. So I sent a friend.

Sadly she had left. She sent in her story at 9:30. SIX HOURS LATE.

Yeah, she’s getting a pay cut.

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