dregslist

new york craigslist > manhattan > personals > missed connections

Date: 2011-04-16, 7:55PM EDT
Reply to: pers-ckpmt-2329640159@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]

This is an ad for the T-Mobile Girl. If you are the T-Mobile Girl, if you know the T-Mobile Girl and could inform me of her whereabouts, or if you own T-Mobile, please continue reading. Otherwise please close this ad and have a nice day.

T-Mobile Girl, I love you. I love you. These mere words are hollow compared to the feeling itself.

I saw you in an ad during an episode of The Big Bang Theory a couple of months ago. Struck. Cupid and his arrows, straight through my television screen! I immediately went out and bought an Android myTouch 4G, assuming that your number and email address would come preprogrammed. No luck. I called customer service to ask for you, but I think your roommates kept answering. I demanded, firmly but politely, to please be connected to the T-Mobile Girl, and but they acted as though they did not know you. How could anyone not know you?! It’s like not knowing about space or the number 3. I went into a few T-Mobile stores to see which one you were working in. Eventually they started putting up photos of me and would tell me to leave (you would be so impressed if you knew how many male employees it took to loosen my grip from the base of the display case). I think that nobody wants me to come close to you.

Where is T-Mobile hiding you? Is it cold there, on your endless white plane? Are you sad or lonely, hungry or ill? Do you hide from the Progressive car insurance lady? I can take care of you! I’ll fulfill all your needs and protect your ceaselessly pink and sunny disposition. We can explore this great world as we explore each other.

Or are you maybe a digital creation designed by T-Mobile? A perfect simulacra, fashioned bit by bit in order to sell phones and inspire souls? Like a Slimer or a Gollum, only crafted with the beauty of a goddess? If so, your creator has the heart of a Michaelangelo because you are a masterpiece. All the better if you have no corporeal existence because then your breeziness will never wane with age. Though my mortal body can only last for a geological instant, I can be the TAGATCGA to your 11010011. Love with zero lag, zero latency. Lossless love in real time, streaming from the cloud. Just tell me where to plug in or log on, and I will be with you in your perfectly white digital construct, immediately and forever.

Or maybe you are a spectral projection of the dreams that haunt me? Or a ghost captured by T-Mobile and forced into slavery until you have sold a certain number of phones? It doesn’t matter, T-Mobile Girl. I will love you, material or immaterial.

I wrote this poem for you. Please let it enter squarely into your soul. Please.

Wanted wanted: Cell Phone Girl
Hair: Brown, Reach: Global.
Your dress is pink, your skin is pearl.
Employer: God, or T-Mobile.

Your face, your ads, I skip a beat
From Wall Street to the Cloisters.
I long to know your body’s heat,
To smell your hidden moistures.

In spite of all the times I dial,
It says your lines are busy.
The Verizon guy wears his smile,
He’s not your boyfriend, is he?

La seule chose que j’écrirai,
Si vous promettez de pas rire:
Vous êtes ma raison d’aspirer,
Vous êtes ma raison de mourir.

My call is dropping, Cell Phone Girl
And my signal is sporadic,
And I shall be dumped where antennae curl,
And the rest is clicks and static.