Crazy, Random "Chris Rock Thing"

by Laura Maxwell

I needed a new cell phone and service plan, so I visited a nearby Verizon store. I had previously suffered through two unattractive, free phones with my other plans, so I decided this time around money was no object and aesthetics was everything. After a prolonged period of touching, feeling, holding, grasping, opening and closing the many models on display, I chose a cute flip-top Samsung. What a sweet piece of modern technology!

Now that I had chosen a phone, it was time to choose a number. I couldn't pick the exact digits of my new number, but I could accept or refuse the random, available numbers presented to me. I rejected the first three. (Sorry, I'm picky!) By the time the fourth one came up I could sense the salesperson's patience was wearing thin. Encouragingly, she said, "You're gonna like this one, really, you will!" Yeah, she was right. I liked it. And so I took it.

I finished at Verizon and returned to my apartment. I was reading through the manual, new phone beside me, when all of a sudden, it rang! Granted, a ringing cell phone is nothing out of the ordinary, but since I had yet to give my new number to anyone, who possibly could be calling me? The Caller ID flashed "Restricted" which wasn't any help.

I flipped open my phone and questioned, "Hell-o?"

"Is Chris Rock there?" Chris Rock? Of course not! I figured the caller must have been joking around with one of his friends and he called my number by mistake." No," I replied, "you've got the wrong number." We hung up, and I didn't think anything more of it.

Two days later, I was upstate, cruising around a parking lot looking for a space (thrilling, I know), when my cell phone rang. A number I didn't recognize appeared on the Caller ID.

LAURA: Hello?

CALLER: Is Chris there?

LAURA: [Puzzled, curiosity piqued] Uh, Chris... who?

CALLER: Chris Rock.

LAURA: [Incredulous] Chris Rock? As in, the Chris Rock?

CALLER: Yeah, the Chris Rock.

LAURA: That is so funny! You're the second person who's called asking for Chris Rock. I just got a new cell phone, and this is my new number.

CALLER: [Laughs] Well, you'd better get a different one, because I'm sure this is Chris Rock's number. Oh, wait... now I remember Chris saying something about changing his number....

We chatted for a few more minutes after I pulled into a spot. When I got off the phone I was left feeling a bit discombobulated, because my mind was reeling from the realization that:

Omigod! I have Chris Rock's old cell phone number! But it's not that old, because people are still calling! What a crazy, random thing to have happened to me!

After settling down, I thought, If I got two calls already, I'm probably going to get some more. Wow, this could be really fun... bring 'em on, baby, bring 'em on!

The following weekend I helped my ex-boss Tim move a load of stuff from his city apartment to a storage space upstate. It was a two-day project that required a sleepover in a hotel on Saturday night.

At 8:30 a.m. on Sunday morning, I was watching a little telly in our room when my cell phone rang. Who could be calling so early on a Sunday morning? I hopped off my bed and walked over to my phone. When I saw "Restricted" on the Caller ID I had a feeling I was in for something out of the ordinary....

LAURA: Hello?

CALLER: Is Chris there?

LAURA: [Inquires politely] Who's calling?

CALLER: It's Spike.

LAURA: [Mischievously inquisitive] From...?

CALLER: [Blurts out, annoyed] It's Spike Lee.

LAURA: [Momentarily stunned and speechless] Uh... well... actually... you have the wrong number.

No reply. Spikey my pal, are you there? I glanced at my phone and saw that the call was no longer active. Hung up on me, the little rat. Oh, these movie-director stars... no sense of humor at all.

After the Spike Lee call, I realized my "Chris hotline" was a live wire, and thus I wanted to have an appropriate number to refer future callers on to. When I got back to NYC I did a Google search, and located Chris' management agency. I was finally passed onto this guy who said he would contact Chris' assistant, Kali, and ask her to get back to me with a number I could give to future callers.

The next day my cell rang, with "Restricted" appearing once again on the Caller ID. I'm guessing this call is not gonna be for me....

LAURA: Hello?

CALLER: Hi, I'm calling from Jerry Seinfeld's office. Jerry would like to get two tickets to Chris' show in L.A. this weekend. Would that be possible?

I had yet to hear from Kali, so all I could say was a lame, "Sorry, you have the wrong number." I wanted to be more helpful, but there wasn't much I could do.

I called my contact at Chris' agency. "Jerry Seinfeld's office just called. I really need that number!" This time he gave me Kali's cell (which, interestingly, was the same number as mine except for the last digit), and told me I could give that out when I received additional calls. I was a tad disappointed -- I was hoping they would give me Chris' number instead of his assistant's. Oh, well.

Good thing I had Kali's number, because the calls kept coming. I averaged about five a week over the next couple of weeks. Nearly every one appeared as "Restricted" on the Caller ID. It didn't take long for me to be conditioned that "Restricted" equaled "Chris-call."

Some people might regard getting Chris-call after Chris-call as extra work and/or an annoyance, but I thought it was great fun. My little cell phone had become a portal into the celebrity/entertainment world at large. When it rang, literally anyone could be on the other end of the line.

Me being mischievous me, I devised this harmless game I played with the Chris-callers: I tried to find out their full name, what company they were calling from, and why they were calling, all the while not letting on that they were talking to me, who was in no manner, shape or form associated with Chris Rock, his staff, and/or his entourage.

After I got the info, in a polite and seemingly helpful manner, I would say, "There's actually someone else you need call who can help you with this matter. Her name is Kali, and her number is 917-....." The caller would then graciously thank me, thinking I was being so very helpful. It was a win/win situation!

Extracting the information from the Chris-callers might seem like it would be easy, but actually it wasn't. Sometimes I couldn't go through with it because I would get too nervous. When nervousness took over all I would just do was tell the caller he/she had reached the wrong number, and refer the person to Kali.

One evening, I was enjoying some quiet time in my apartment when -- ring! ring! I looked at my phone and saw a number beginning with "310." Hmm... California... 10 p.m. my time/7 p.m. theirs -- I bet this is another (you know what).

LAURA: Hello?

CALLER: Hi, is this Malaak?

LAURA: No, it's not. Who's this? (Note: I later did a Google search and found out that "Malaak" was Chris' wife)

CALLER: It's Adam.

LAURA: Adam?

CALLER: It's Adam Sandler.

LAURA: [Thinks, Ah, yes, indeed it is! There's no mistaking that distinctive voice of his] Oh, hi!

ADAM: Hi!

LAURA: [Overcome with sudden punchiness from the craziness of one minute winding down for bed, and then talking with Adam Sandler the next] So, are you calling Chris for business or pleasure?

ADAM: [Laughs, taken slightly off guard, but still retains happy-go-lucky attitude] I'm calling Chris to say hello and chat. So, is he there?

LAURA: [Knows it's confession time, but tries best to retain formerly buoyant personality] No, well... he's not. You see, I'm actually this random New York City girl who happened to get Chris' old cell phone number.

ADAM: [Lets out a big laugh] Wow, that's really funny! That's great! You must be having a fun time with this!

LAURA: Yes, I am! What also makes it fun is that coincidentally, I write true stories about my life in New York, and this will be another funny, true story to write about. Oh, I have a number you can call to reach Chris....

ADAM: No, that's okay -- I have his home number. Well, good luck, and sorry to have bothered you.

LAURA: No bother at all. Bye!

The next afternoon I was riding a Trailways bus, heading upstate for the weekend, when my cell phone rang. I ruffled around my luggage and located my cell. The Caller ID flashed "Restricted."

LAURA: Hello?

CALLER: Hi, is Chris there?

LAURA: Who's calling please?

CALLER: It's Jack Nicholson.

In that millisecond I nearly dropped dead, but then I thought, Wait a minute. Adam Sandler totally sounded like Adam Sandler, and that didn't sound like Jack.

With a hefty dose of skepticism I commented, "This doesn't sound like Jack Nicholson."

"I'm his assistant."

Although I'd certainly had my doubts, when I heard, "I'm his assistant," it was a let down. Close, so very close, but no cigar. Can you imagine if it had really been Jack?

But getting back to the important matter on hand -- the nerve of that guy! You don't go around saying you're Jack Nicholson when you're Jack Nicholson's assistant. I suppose he thought there was only a slight difference?

Jack's ASSISTANT continued, "Jack has tickets to the Laker's game tonight, and he wanted to know if Chris is available to join him. Will Chris still be in LA tonight?"

Blasé, I replied, "There's someone else you'll need to call who can help you with that." I referred him onto Kali. We hung up, and my heartbeat returned to its usual rate.

The Chris-calls came unexpectedly, at any time and place, and early on I began to feel this newfound, pressing need to be on top of my cell phone at all times. One Saturday, I decided to visit the Museum of the City of New York. When I was getting my bag checked at the security desk, the guard saw my cell phone and said, "Please turn your cell phone off." That sent a shockwave right through me. I can't turn my cell phone off! What if I miss an important Chris-call? To seem agreeable (and so I would be allowed into the museum), I turned it off, but as soon as I was past the security desk I turned it back on.

(Note: This behavior has come a long way from the days when my brother frequently expressed annoyance at me for never answering my cell phone. Well, dearest bro', times have a' changed, and sis has a' changed with them. You can thank Chris Rock for that!)

Google has proved itself to be quite invaluable in so far as helping me identify callers. When this one guy told me his name, at first I thought, That's no fun -- I can't even Google him -- there must be a million 'Steve White's.' But then I thought of Googling "Steve White" and "comedian" at the same time. Bingo. I found exactly the person I had talked to. Nice guy, by the way.

One afternoon I was sitting at my desk at work, when my cell rang. The Caller ID showed a "603" area code, which I didn't recognize. I also didn't recognize the name of the caller: Ken Burns. After he told me his name, the conversation went as follows:

LAURA: What's this regarding, please?

KEN BURNS: Stand up.

LAURA: Do you want to book Chris for something?

KEN BURNS: No. It's regarding a film we've been discussing doing together for the past year -- a documentary on the history of Stand Up.

LAURA: Oh, there's actually someone else for you to call....

A co-worker with an avid interest in my ongoing Chris-call accounts was standing near my desk when I got off the phone. I said to her, "I just got another call for Chris, but I never heard of the guy. His name was Ken Burns."

"Ken Burns! Oh, my God! I can't believe you just talked to Ken Burns! He's a great documentary filmmaker. Do a search on him and you'll see all the great stuff he's done." Yes, Google proved me a fool, thank you.

We were still discussing the Ken Burns call when my cell rang again, with "603" on the Caller ID. "Oh, no! He's calling back!" I was almost afraid to answer it.

"Answer it! Answer it!" she ordered.

LAURA: [Meekly] Hello?

CALLER: Hi, it's Ken Burns. I spoke with you a few minutes ago. That number you gave me. No one was there. I got the voice mail of someone named "Kali."

LAURA: Kali is Chris' assistant....

KEN: I left a message on her voice mail, but... do you think I could call Chris at his home?

LAURA: Yeah, uh, sure... you can try him at home.

Am I bad? Yeah, I suppose. But c'mon. Would you pass up this great entertainment, ever so conveniently placed in the palm of your hand?

Update

I finished writing my Chris Rock cell phone story on a Saturday afternoon. After posting it on my website, I sent an e-mail to my "Notification List" readers, notifying them of this new offering, and providing a link to the story. (Standard Laura's NYC Tales procedure.)

Over the years I've built up a decent-sized notification list, which is really great because it provides me with instant feedback on new material I post. The first e-mails I received regarding the Chris story were very positive: "That's a great story!" "Can I just say how brilliant this story is!" "Hilarious!" "Loved it!" I was pleased to hear that initial response was good. I mean, I liked the story, but that wasn't a guarantee others would as well.

On Saturday evening I visited my good friend Nancy. I read her the story, and we laughed throughout my reading of it. I mused, "I wonder what Chris would think if he ever read the story?" We both shrugged, and gave each other a "Who knows?" kind of look.

I checked my e-mail when I got up on Sunday morning. There were a few additional, positive responses from "Notification List" readers, and then there was this other e-mail, from a guy who mentioned he had seen the story on MetaFilter.

I had never heard of "MetaFilter," so as a first guess I typed the obvious "metafilter.com" into my browser. Up popped their homepage (they're a discussion forum website). To my complete surprise, at the top of the page I read, "Chris-calls! What if you received Chris Rock's old cell phone number and his celebrity friends kept on calling you?"

Following was an extensive thread of comments on the story, and then comments on the comments. As I scrolled down the page, I read many comments trashing the story. But not only did they trash my story, they also trashed me. Here's a sampling:

"It's too bad someone with no sense of humor got the phone."

"I kept thinking there would be an interesting or funny point to her story. I was wrong."

"She didn't know who Ken Burns is? Sheesh."

"Carrie Bradshaw she is not."

Another comment: "I'd swear this was a Jean Teasdale article." Oh, great, I thought, who's that? I assumed it was another put-down, and I was right. Through a quick web search I discovered "Jean Teasdale" is a fictional, mock columnist in The Onion, described as "an overweight woman in a small town who loves her cats and Patrick Swayze," and is someone "who thinks she has a sense of humor but has very pedestrian tastes and a very humdrum lifestyle."

Many of the MetaFilter readers expressed disappointment with my story because they wanted me to have really pranked the callers. Well, I disagree. As keeper of the number, I stand by my belief that I did the right thing. Throughout my dealings with the callers, I made it a point to always remain respectful. The way I figured it, the last thing a celebrity needs (or any of us, for that matter) is another annoyance. By not annoying Chris' callers, I felt that translated into not annoying him. Excuse me for being a decent person.

After a day of back-and-forth blogging with the MeFi readers, I felt as if I had been put through the wringer, but the experience ended on a positive note: MetaFilter is a highly trafficked site, and the exposure led to links on other sites. These links led to more links, which led to more and more, and before I knew it my story was all over the Internet.

By Wednesday, I started receiving a lot more e-mail than usual. "I found your site through a link on Popdex," "I saw you on BuzzMachine," "Blogdex," "Crains Detroit News," "VH1" (that was a fun one to find out about), "USA Today" to name a few.

Also on Wednesday, I received e-mails from two radio stations wanting to interview me. I snuck into a private conference room to conduct the interviews. No one at work had a hint of what I was up to, which made it all the more fun.

Thursday was a very busy e-mail day, with more and more people discovering my site through various linkage of the Chris Rock story.

Early Friday morning before work, as I was drinking my coffee, my mind was thinking, thinking, thinking... plotting, planning, scheming....

Instead of spending the next hour exercising, I sat down at my computer and whipped up an e-mail to my Notification List readers. The e-mail told of the buzz going on and of my new idea: "What if we band together and launch a blitz, and get the word out about the story here, there and everywhere? Let's see how far we can make this thing go!"

I sent the e-mail that morning, and by noontime response was pouring in. The fuel that had been added to what was already a fire succeeded in now making it burn like crazy.

Friday evening, in the midst of the e-mail blitz craziness, it was time for me to say, "Bye-bye, New York, hello Savannah." I left for a 10-day work/vacation, compliments of my ex-boss Tim. He had recently bought a house outside of Savannah, and flew me down on an all-expenses-paid trip to help fix it up.

Excitement was in the air. I was looking forward to getting out of bustling NYC, and heading to a beautiful Southern city I'd never visited before. I was also looking forward to spending time with Tim and his partner Warren, which is always a lot of fun. And not that I needed another reason to be excited, but there was one: my Chris Rock story was splashing all around cyberspace. Where would it end up next?

Whenever I fly, I prefer a window seat, and I got one that night on my flight to Savannah. Face pressed up against the window like a little kid, I gazed out at the intricate web of amber-toned electrical illumination below me. I watched as it became sparser and sparser as we flew away from the intense concentration of Manhattan Island. It made me think about how interconnected our whole world is....

Electricity and the Internet reaching all of these houses... I wonder if my website made it into any of these tiny speck-of-a-houses down below?

Late afternoon on Saturday, we headed to the home of one of Warren's old friends, for cocktails before dinner. Riding in the backseat of the car en route to the gathering, I was admiring the elaborate moss dripping from the trees (a common sight for Southerners; an unusual sight for a Northerner like me), when my cell phone went a' ringy-ring-ring. I looked at the Caller ID it displayed an area code I didn't recognize.

LAURA: Hello?

CALLER: Hi, is this Laura?

LAURA: [Surprised, didn't expect to hear this. Had assumed, as always lately with unrecognized numbers, that the caller was going to ask for "Chris," not "Laura"] Um, this is Laura....

CALLER: [Very enthusiastically] Hi! This is Gayle, Chris' mother-in-law. I read your story about getting Chris' old cell phone number, and I absolutely loved it! I thought it was one of the most hilarious things I'd ever read. I wanted to call you and say hello, and then I realized I already had your number!

LAURA: [Thrilled] Wow, that is so great! I'm so glad you liked my story! Thanks, Notification List readers. Our e-mail blitz worked.

A week before, when I had mused to Nancy, "I wonder what Chris would think if he ever read the story?" that notion seemed pretty far-fetched. But now, a mere week later, it didn't seem so at all. Incredible!

Mid-afternoon on Sunday, we headed to Tim and Warren's house to start our fix-up work. Tim's task du jour was bricking up an interior wall, and Warren and I were going to do some painting. I chose this wall adjacent to the second floor outdoor porch.

It was a beautiful, sunny, 75-degree day down Savannah way (as opposed to a chilly and grey, mid-30's one back home, ha ha). I was wearing my glamorous painter's outfit of pants that were too small in the waist so they were left with zipper not fully zipped, a faded purple bra top, and shoes I had mummified with blue painter's tape.

The three of us took our posts and began our work. I was painting for a whopping ten minutes when my cell started to ring. I put down my paint-sopped roller and walked over to my phone. I saw "Restricted" on the Caller ID.

LAURA: Hello?

CALLER: Is this Laura?

LAURA: [Thinks, Another call for me from someone I don't know? Gee, I'm getting mighty popular on the Chris-line. Curious, inquisitive] Yes... this is Laura....

CALLER: Hi, it's Chris Rock.

With all that had been going on lately, this wasn't the hugest, most out-of-left-field surprise, but still -- my first instinct was not to believe it. I thought I was being pranked. By who, I didn't know, but pranked nonetheless.

I wasn't familiar enough with Chris' voice to recognize it, so during the first few minutes of the call I was mostly trying to figure out if it was really him. We kept talking, and as time went on I began to settle into the fact that yes, it was really Chris.

We had a nice chat. He was friendly, and genuinely interested in me. (What do you do? Where do you live? How old are you?) We talked for a while about a bunch of things.

When Chris had asked, "What do you do?" I mentioned my website and writing, and then for my job I said I was an Executive Assistant. "Kind of like Kali, you know, Executive/Personal assistant."

"For a celebrity?"

"No, for an executive, in an office."

He said, "Oh, we have to get you out of that! I'll give you the name of my literary agent - he's one of the best agents in the city. You can say I referred you." He also gave me his new cell phone number. My thoughts flashed back to yet another of the snide MetaFilter comments:

"My favorite part of Laura's essay: 'I was a tad disappointed -- I was hoping they'd give me Chris' number instead of his assistant's.' Yeah, that's what they were gonna do: give the weird phone stranger their boss' direct number."

"Weird phone stranger" -- is that what you think I am? Well, obviously Chris doesn't share your sentiment, or else he wouldn't have given me his number. It's like, don't be callin' me crap that I'm not.

Continued exposure of the story made my Inbox go wild for the next week. All sorts of interest flooded in. Of particular note: the National Post (Canada's national newspaper) asked if they could run the piece and pay me for it [yes, that ended up happening], an indie writer/director in L.A. was interested in my material, [I never followed up with him] and this guy thought my story would be good for a new reality show his production company will be pitching to HBO [nope, that never materalized]. And many, many new people were introduced to Laura's NYC Tales.

A week or so later I got the following two Chris-calls. Funny how things were a bit different now:

CALL #1:

LAURA: Hello?

CALLER: I have Rick Kurtzman on the line for Chris. Is he there? (Rick was Bill Murray's former agent.)

LAURA: There's another number for you to call for Chris. The number is nine- one- seven...

CALLER: [Cuts Laura off mid number, aggressively blurts out] Were you giving me Kali's number?

LAURA: Uh, yes, I was....

CALLER: I already have her number, and I read your story.

[Caller hangs up, leaving Laura stopped in dead her tracks, not knowing what to make of that one!]

CALL #2:

LAURA: Hello?

CALLER: Is Chris there?

LAURA: Who's this?

CALLER: It's Bill... hey, are you the girl that wrote that story?

LAURA: Yeah! Did you read it?

BILL: I sure did. I'm a friend of Chris'. After I read it I thought, "Chris has got to see this!" I'm the one who sent the link to him.

LAURA: Oh... so that's how he got the link. Thanks for sending it to him. By the way, I've got another number for you to call to reach Chris....

Also "after" the story, I received several additional calls of interest. Not to be a name-dropper, but I talked with Damon Wayans (friendly and nice), Peter Farrelly (the director of "There's Something About Mary," also very cool), and Jerry Seinfeld.

LAURA: Hello?

CALLER: Is Chris there?

LAURA: [In her pleasant Executive Assistant voice] Who's this?

CALLER: Jerry.

LAURA: [Immediately thinks, Oh my gosh, it's Jerry Seinfeld! but acts completely unfazed. Politely and innocently asks] Jerry...?

JERRY: [Curt and demanding] Who's this?

LAURA: [Taken aback, yet refusing to be intimidated] Well, who's this?

JERRY: [In a shockingly nasty tone] This is a DUMB GAME. Is Chris THERE or NOT?

LAURA: [Chokes up] Um, um.... [Click].

It was such an unexpectedly nasty interaction that I was left feeling distressed. Would Jerry Seinfeld really have been that rude? He never did say his last name, so admittedly, I wasn't 100% positive it was him. After work that day I went to a friend's house. The TV was on, and an old episode of "Seinfeld" happened to be playing. In it Jerry was arguing/bickering with George. The minute I heard it I thought, Yup, it was Jerry Seinfeld alright. My opinion of the "Seinfeld" we all know and love has been forever tainted! But all things considered, it was a small price to pay.