[Gabriella the Bitch]

I have had my Virgin Mobile phone for quite nearly a year, or basically since I moved out of state, so quite definitely a year. I remember my first phone call, it was from a bill collection agency calling for a Gabriella. This is where it all begins, the start of my pay as you go strife, and my hatred for Gabriella. Every month or so I'll get a strewn of calls from a [262] area code, or some blocked/unknown number. Every time my loathing for Gabriella worsened. At first I deleted the voicemails I'd received, automated messages reminding me of my past bills, or family members trying to track me down, all messages for a Gabriella who would never receive them. After awhile I started to call these numbers back, even waiting 20 minutes at a time on hold, needing to know who it was and what kind of trouble Gabriella was in. I became obsessed. I would talk to Businesses calling from Job.com, or Milwaukee Jobs themselves, or numerous out of state banks, and even an Irate cousin of hers who screamed for 5 minutes about Missing a birthday party before I could get a word in edgewise. I felt that with each returned call I was getting closer to the end, closer to unraveling the mystery that was Gabriella. sooner or later Gabrielle would have to realize that she no longer had a cell phone, or maybe any family left that liked her enough to call. Or maybe after months and months of never hearing back from applied jobs, she would become a hermit, or a witch in a forest somewhere. Learning magic and cursing the neighborhood children. And finally it would end, I would never hear from estranged and outraged family from which I didn't belong, or Collection agencies, unless they were actually for me, or jobs asking for my call back only to learn they never left an extension number. And Gabriella would never bother me again with her burdens, because everyone knows witches don't use phones.

[Let me paint this picture for you.]

I'm sitting at MOCT on a Saturday night. This doesn't strike one as unusual considering this is where I am most Saturday nights. MOCT is a nice place, its a bar constructed of an Old double door garage. You walk in the front doors and straight ahead theres the dance floor, its outlined by four long wooden built in benches where drunken girls usually take to dancing, or drunken boys usually take to sulking. To your immediate left is the DJs, probably Asher,[or in this case definitely Asher] To the right of the DJs, some provocative Film is screening against the wall stimulating the girls, or if its football,[and in this case it is] stimulating the boys. Turn further right and you'll reach the bar littered with fancy dressed businessmen and high heeled stellas, probably underage. The night usually starts off slow, not to many dancers except the few who catch themselves swaying or thrusting, embarrassed and red faced. But for the sake of the story I'll move ahead a few hours, one half hour before bar close, and I'm sitting at MOCT on a Saturday night.Cara is up with Asher watching his last set, taking notes with her mind for DJschool. I'm realizing theres no one really to hang with, everyones either to drunk, to unfamiliar or the guy who talks way to close to my face. And these red shoes are really starting to hurt. around ten minutes later I'm sitting on one of the four vacant benches and a trio of guys pass by. The first passes unnoticed, at a normal pace, nothing unusual here.[Heres where it gets tricky.]The second... the second, passes by and RUNS HIS FINGERS THROUGH MY HAIR while still in motion. uhhhThen the third takes up the back, completely unaware of any foul play or hand misplacement. The three men pass, none of which even look in my direction let alone pretend to notice I'm there, and get lost in the crowd. I don't know if you're getting the full effect of this, it was a forehead to back of neck drive-by hand hair combing.Keep in mind that We've been dancing since eleven O'clockish and I have a lot of gross sweaty hair at this point. I sit there alone, mouth mildly open, at a loss for words. We finish out the night dance some more, avoid some fights, the closingbar mayhem, and take our leave.So I ask you this. When is it ok to run your fingers through a strange girls hair?