Dear Mystery Midnight Caller
I think you should know I consider you the lowest sort of evil creature. If I ever find you, I will kill you. With fiery vengeance. If I had the power, I would hate you to death right now.
So you understand why I am so very angry, I will explain slowly and in detail. The vast majority of humans sleep at night and work during the day; they also tend to work on Fridays and are thus unlikely to stay up late on a Thursday night. Put another way, around midnight on Thursday nights, most people are sleeping. And I am one of those people.
That is until you decide to call.
Every five minutes.
Until I get out of bed, locate my phone and turn on airplane mode.
Then I stagger back to my bed, only to find that sleep now eludes me.
All because of you, caller identified not as a series of 13 digits, but simply one: 9. Because you were the kind of self-important asshole to call again and again and again until I staggeringly look around a dark house for a black phone.
Because of you, my Friday was not a joyous countdown to camping, but a sleepy haze wherein I struggle to remember everything I had planned to pack due to exhaustion.
If you’re reading this, do me a favor and go die in a fire.