Sabrina Enayatulla
Founder & Editor, www.SliceofLemon.com
On style and fashion: L.A. Muslim Women’s Style Examiner
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Elementary School

When I was little, my neighbor and I used to spend lots of time making prank phone calls. Because even back then, I liked to waste whatever talent I had acquired by age 9 to do things like prank call 9-1-1.

The ’90s, if you recall, were a time of great discovery and invention– caller ID, call waiting, The Internet, Slip ‘n Slide, Pocket Rocker. It was a really great decade to grow up in. We had layered socks, stirrup pants, big bangs, and slap bracelets. But the MOTHER of all greatness showed itself when my elementary school published its first phone book.

I remember our teacher handing them to our class at the end of the day. I ran my hands across the freshly copied and cut cover. It was yellow with the face of a fox (our school mascot) on the front. It had a black, wide-spiral bind, and as I tucked it into my backpack, the wheels started turning. THIS WAS HUGE. Having access to a list of phone numbers that included THE ENTIRE STUDENT BODY, INCLUDING FACULTY was like having the ability to become invisible, or fly. Putting that kind of power in my tiny little hands was like telling Dick Cheney that he’s going to be our next president.

It’s just not a good idea.

We got the phone books on Friday, so after I got home, and ate dinner, I called my next door neighbor Sandy over to play. Sandy was essentially my first friend on this earth since our parents lived next door to each other even before my older sister was born. We’d been in all the same classes since first grade, and when she got to my house, we locked ourselves in my parents’ room, and experienced prank calling like no fourth grader had ever before known. We made dozens of phone calls that night. We pretended to be boys calling girls who liked them, we called students’ parents pretending to be teachers, and I think we might even have called some of my sister’s friends just to mix things up.

Once we made it through the entire fourth grade (and a few of Uzma’s friends) we flipped to the faculty section and found the listing for our teacher, Mrs. Shaffer.

Mrs. Shaffer was the teacher that every rising fourth grader wanted. She was young, tall and blonde, and always wore the coolest clothes. She had two daughters who were much younger than I was, and she was a wonderful teacher.

But wonderful or not, no one was going to be spared tonight. WE HAD A SCHOOL DIRECTORY FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, and just when you thought calling my sister’s friends was an all-time low, Sandy and I proved that we could in fact, SINK LOWER.

We made about six phone calls to her house, laughing, coughing, and making funny noises each time she picked up. Sometimes she would hang up first, sometimes we would. At one point she said, “Okay, this isn’t funny anymore,” and I nearly wet my pants from laughter so explosive I actually feared for my life.

Seriously. Who knew you could laugh so hard you thought you might die?

After we composed ourselves, and realized Sandy would have to go home soon (her mom already called twice) we decided to end on a high note. We mustered up a lot of courage to call Mrs. Shaffer, but that was only the beginning. Sandy and I were about to go all Braveheart up in my parents’ bedroom before the movie even came out. We flipped a few pages, and BAM, there it was: Mr. Nelson, the principal.

Our school principal was a really nice guy. He was always walking the halls, and it felt like he knew everyone by name. He was the “pal” in the word when you learn how to spell it, and his son David was in our class.

It was my turn to make the call so I picked up, and dialed.

“Hello?”

“shmdfjefijuestu…BAHAHA”

CLICK.

My neighbor and I started laughing hysterically, and then decided to do it again.

The phone rang, and I tried to hold in my laughter.

“Hello?”

“djdiehenvb…”

“Sabrina, I know that’s you.”

Oh crap, it was David!

“We have caller ID so you should really stop prank calling us before I tell my dad.”

I quickly hung up the phone.

“THEY HAVE CALLER ID!!!!” I shouted to Sandy. Her face went pale.

I was a deer caught in headlights, the fly that just felt the frog’s wet tongue on my butt, the little white bunny that stumbles as the hawk swoops in. This was not supposed to happen — it was like watching Mel Gibson die in the first 15 minutes of the movie.

We didn’t know what to do. How do you UNDO a prank call?

Sandy and I laid low for the rest of the weekend, hoping things would blow over and David wouldn’t say anything to his dad. But just when you think things can’t get any worse, Murphy’s Law rolls into full affect, and on Monday, I nearly pooped my pants in school.  As the class was settling in, and all of us took our seats, Mrs. Shaffer stood in front of the class and made an announcement.

“Over the weekend some of you thought it was funny to prank call my house,” she said. “I just want to tell all of you that I know who it was. I’m going to let it go this time, but if it happens again, I will be calling your parents.”

AHHHH. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? DOES EVERYONE HAVE CALLER ID??????????

Sandy and I looked at each other, and we knew the phone books would have to be put away forever. Our prank calling days were done.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, December 30th, 2009 at 9:21 pm and is filed under pranks.You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.