The Answering Machine

This came to mind after watching The Office last week, where Michael accidentally sends a nud epicture of Jan out to the entire company. Something similar happened to me that I somehow completely forgot about.
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I had a very boring class my junior year entitled "Women in Literature" which was taught by a professor who, no joke, is an expert in Lesbian Detective Fiction. I have no idea how I ended up in this class, and I don't remember much about it aside from how dreadful Fanny Fern was to grind through and that I didn't really hate Bastard Out Of Carolina as much as I assumed I would. (Anything else assigned in that class went dutifully unread.)

I sat next to Christina and we ended up paired in a group project together. Christina was like 68% of Diane Court from Say Anything -- not quite as pretty, not quite as smart but still very serious about her studies (to the point where she was a RA, one of those live-in students who can get you in trouble for drinking and being noisy) and easy on the eyes. I don't want to say that we were friends, or that I was super into her, but we would talk when we ran into each other on campus and if she suggested making out with me, I'd totally be into the idea.

We were supposed to meet up to go over part of our assignment. Christina called me and left a message on our answering machine about meeting up later on that night. I called Christina back right away. She wasn't in, so I left a message on her machine.

"Hey, Christina, this is Gregg. I was just wondering if you'd be around later tonight for us to finish up the project. Call me back."

I then hung up the phone. This is usually uneventful for most people. I noticed something odd when I had hung up the phone. It didn't quite feel "right." I paid it no mind.

As soon as I got off the phone, my then-roommate Mike asked me who I talked to. I told him. He knew who she was.

"What do you think of her?"

"She's pretty cute," I told him.

"Yeah, I think so... actually, I think she's pretty fucking hot."

"Yeah... she is, actually. She's real feminist, though."

"So? Girls who are all about that usually give the best head."

"I don't know... Christina doesn't seem like she's ever given anyone head."

"Oh, I bet she has man."

At this point, the annoying clang of a busy signal started eminating from the speakers of the phone. And that's when I realized...

I had accidentally put the phone on speaker.

I started to panic -- my voice cracking, my face turning pale. Mike realized what had happened, too... and started laughing right in my face. I thought I was totally screwed -- I participated in a very lewd, pretty offensive conversation about someone I had to do a group project with who I also got along with pretty well. And not only that, she was someone with a bit of authority on campus who also was pretty strongly opinionated about issues regarding the degradation of women. Which, I just unveiled to her was something I at least supported and tolerated, if not outright participated in.

I thought I had several options: 1) Run down to her room and immediately apologize, 2) Call her back and immediately apologize or 3) Avoid all phone calls, leave my apartment and get drunk with friends of mine who were even bigger boneheads.

Eventually, I had to meet Christina. I apologized and she didn't really care about what happened. And, in fact, the next year I was the first person she called when she was looking to score Ritalin.