No such love or luck this time. To my shock, it was "a collect call from...Roland...an inmate at Corcoran State Prison."
I stood clutching my Little Debbie Snack cakes in terror. Roland? Wha? Have they found me? Was that liquor-filled chocolate rumball guy? Was it guy who wanted pink velour bath robe? Cause neither of them got rumballs nor pink velour. YOU CAN'T HAVE RUMBALLS. Hell, I can't have rumballs. Build a bridge and get over it, Roland.
I called some family members in a panic to let them know I would be being murdered by this Roland quite shortly. They're telling me to chillacquer, that it was just the wrong number. But Corcoran is approximately a million miles away. This man used his precious phone priviliges to call someone in the other half of the state who just happened to used to have my number? Holy crap, I hope so.