How to Avoid Wrinkles
Nosleep_630-296-7536
I’m sure that all of you on /r/nosleep are used to the cry for help type stories by now. Help me, help me, blah-blah-blah. I won’t bore you with another. Even if I wanted your help, you couldn’t give it to me, because your help is useless. Why?
Because you’re not a member.
I just wish that I wasn’t either.
It all started innocently enough. With a phone call.
I’d been up for a few hours, unpacking and cleaning, waiting for the plumber to call. I just moved into a cabin and the contractors fucked everything up. Because of that, I now have the wonderful task of making calls to competent people that can fix what the original contractors did wrong. The phone rang at 12:06.
Not bad, I thought. Usually plumbers don’t bother to call or show up until 5. When I picked up the phone I didn’t even get a chance to say hello before a woman on the line told me to “Please hold for the next available operator.” I hopped up and sat on the cabinet in the kitchen. It was one of the few places in the cabin not occupied with boxes. Elevator music leaked into my ear. I’d started to drowse off when the music stopped and a piano chord that sounded like it was three notes that didn’t quite go together played through the receiver twice. A voice came on the line.
“Welcome to Boothworld Industries. My name is Samantha and I will be your operator today. Name?” I didn’t know what to say so I told the operator my name.
“Sir, we know who you are. I’m your operator. Please give me a name to access.” “I don’t understand,” I said.
“It can be anyone, sir. We just need a name.”
“Uh, okay,” I said. I made up a name. “Harold Withers.” “Sir, as your operator, I must point out that fictitious names, or the names of people that you don’t know, cannot be used.” “Used for what?” I asked. How had she known that I’d made up that name? The whole thing felt like it was some sort of prank, but hardly anyone knew my new phone number. “Remodeling.”
“Remodeling? Is this the plumber?” I
I’m sure that all of you on /r/nosleep are used to the cry for help type stories by now. Help me, help me, blah-blah-blah. I won’t bore you with another. Even if I wanted your help, you couldn’t give it to me, because your help is useless. Why?
Because you’re not a member.
I just wish that I wasn’t either.
It all started innocently enough. With a phone call.
I’d been up for a few hours, unpacking and cleaning, waiting for the plumber to call. I just moved into a cabin and the contractors fucked everything up. Because of that, I now have the wonderful task of making calls to competent people that can fix what the original contractors did wrong. The phone rang at 12:06.
Not bad, I thought. Usually plumbers don’t bother to call or show up until 5. When I picked up the phone I didn’t even get a chance to say hello before a woman on the line told me to “Please hold for the next available operator.” I hopped up and sat on the cabinet in the kitchen. It was one of the few places in the cabin not occupied with boxes. Elevator music leaked into my ear. I’d started to drowse off when the music stopped and a piano chord that sounded like it was three notes that didn’t quite go together played through the receiver twice. A voice came on the line.
“Welcome to Boothworld Industries. My name is Samantha and I will be your operator today. Name?” I didn’t know what to say so I told the operator my name.
“Sir, we know who you are. I’m your operator. Please give me a name to access.” “I don’t understand,” I said.
“It can be anyone, sir. We just need a name.”
“Uh, okay,” I said. I made up a name. “Harold Withers.” “Sir, as your operator, I must point out that fictitious names, or the names of people that you don’t know, cannot be used.” “Used for what?” I asked. How had she known that I’d made up that name? The whole thing felt like it was some sort of prank, but hardly anyone knew my new phone number. “Remodeling.”
“Remodeling? Is this the plumber?” I