Possible Terrorism
Salvatore Vulcano


I want to tell you guys a story of the first… and the last time that I saw Stacy Wu. Okay? So I got a package delivered to my house. It was addressed to Stacy Wu. I don't know Stacy Wu. Never heard of her. Never met her. But the address was my address. So I figure, okay, it's a mistake. I'll toss it to the side. I'll deal with it later. Later that night I'm chilling, I'm like, all right, let me open up this package, see if there's a contact info for this Stacy, see if I can let her know that I have her stuff. So I open up the package. Sure enough...her address is in there-- her email address. And it is a pair of pants, women's, size 6, sateen dress pants, black, from Ann Taylor Loft. So I'm like, I'm gonna get Stacy her pants back.

So I open up my email and I type her email address in. I write right in the subject, "I have your pants." And I'm about to tell her, you know, "Just drop me a line. I'll get 'em to you." But then I thought, "Ohh, wouldn't it be great if I wrote her a ransom note for them?" I'm like, "Of course it would be great." So that's what people do. They write ransom notes. So I get out my "Entertainment Weeklies" and just start chopping away.

Five hours. For five hours, I cut letters out of years' worth of "Entertainment Weekly" magazines. It was a work of art. And I taped the pages and I scanned it into the email. And I'm about to hit send and I'm like, "Ah! This is not how ransom notes work. I have to send her a picture of the pants, prove I got them." And then I thought, "Oh... wouldn't it be great...if I was in them?" 'Course it would.

So I get myself in these pants. It took minutes. That's a long time to get into pants. But I got this body into those size 6 sateens. And I take some pictures of myself and I realize I'm bare-chested, and I'm like, "Ah, that's kinda weird." I don't want her to get the wrong idea about this ransom note. I want this ransom note to be on the up and up. So I put on a shirt, a tie, a jacket, shoes. I really classed this ransom note up. I really did. I'm about to take a picture of myself in them and I said, "Oh...this is not how this works. She can’t see my face." So I said, "Wouldn't it be great if I was in a ski mask?" So I put on a ski mask. I take a bunch of pictures of myself. I upload this all into the email, I hit send, and I am so proud of myself because this is what life is. People don't know how to live. I figured it out. This is it. So I just go to bed. I dream great dreams. And I wake up on the morning--it's like Christmas morning to me. I run straight to my laptop and I open it up to see if Stacy Wu has received my correspondence and if she wrote back. And she did.

"This is really creepy. A man sending pictures wearing women's pants and a ski mask? I'm filing a complaint with UPS. I'll have the authorities track you down to where the pants were delivered and charge you with robbery and possible terrorism."

I did not--I never in my wildest dreams I'd think this was "possible terrorism." I thought this was gonna be a hoot. Like, a little light hoot, not a possible terror. She goes on. "They look for people like you, you son of a gun. I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. This truly isn't funny, and if you're looking for peanut butter, I don't have any!" I'll get to that in a second.

I'm in over my head. I'm in over my head. It's obvious. I should have said, "This is a joke! Take your pants!" But instead, I said…”Do you think I'm playing games?" Yeah! The terrorist in me ain't gonna stand for that crap! This is my first time terrorizing anyone. I'm going balls to the wall, okay? I do everything I do to the best of my ability. If I'm possibly terrorizing you, look the heck out. And I just sent her a bunch more photos. So then I step away from the laptop. It was the first thing I did that day and did nothing else, so I went to my phone for the first time and opened it up, and I had a text from the night before at 10:32 pm. This is before I dabbled with any of this other stuff. And the text is from my landlord Stanley who lives right below me. And this is what his text said.

He said, "Hey, buddy, was there a package delivered last Monday and left on your porch? It's for my girlfriend Stacy." I'm like, ha ha ha ha… there's no way he's finding out about this. I don't care what I have to do. I'm getting rid of the pants. I'll take the freaking pants down to a ravine and frickin' shoot 'em. However you get rid of stuff. I'm gonna do it. And then I realized… oh, man, I sent her the note from my email address. It's got my first, last, and two middle names in the type. So I have to confess. I have to come clean to Stan. So I call him on the phone. I'm like, "Stan, it's Joe. As a matter of fact, I do have the pants, and if you wanna meet me on the side of the house, I'll give 'em to you. Uh, also… I gotta tell you something.” Gotta tell you something.

So he meets me on the side of the house. He's like, "Oh, Joe, thanks so much." I'm like, "Stan, no problem. I even emailed her and let her know I had 'em." He's like, "You're the best. I'm like, "Hold on. Just hold on. Just let me finish." I said, "Stan, somewhere in there I felt it apropos… to also write her a ransom note for them." He's like, "What are you talking about? I'm like, "It's exactly what you think." And I knew...I knew he was gonna ask me, "Well, what did it say?" And so I brought the ransom note to the side of the house to read to him right there in the driveway.

It says, "Hello. I have your pants...Check the picture for proof." We agree that the ransom note should have ended there. Allow me to read you the next 18 pages.

"In order to get them back safely, I am going to need one 15-ounce jar of Skippy all-natural Honey Peanut Butter...smooth." I'm allergic to peanut butter.

"I know what you're thinking. 'Peanut butter'? Yeah. Peanut butter. So what? This is about me right now. This really isn't the time for you to be judging me about the peanut butter. I have your pants.”

“To be honest, I felt silly asking for the peanut butter, but I gathered myself, and here we are. Peanut butter is delicious, and I'm out of it." I'm now explaining myself to her for no good reason. "I could have asked for a lot worse than peanut butter." I don't even know what the implication was there. I don't need to question myself. So let's just move on.

"Put the peanut butter in an unmarked duffle..." Clearly, all of my knowledge of ransom notes has come from the movies. I don't even know what an unmarked duffle is. I--What is a-- What is a marked duffle? I don't know. "Deliver to my home no later than noon on Friday.”

“Every day… that I do not receive the peanut butter…I will wear your pants...with a different cute top." She's giving me no choice. "Your move." I was elated. I said to him, "I also, uh--I also sent her a photo to prove I had 'em." And he was like… "Let me see it." And I showed him on my phone, he said, "What did she say?" I said, "She said… she was gonna call the authorities...and charge me with robbery and terrorism.” He said, "Holy crap! What did you say?" And I said...I said, "Oh, I just said, 'Do you think I'm playing games?' and then I just fired off a bunch more photos to her." I'm literally wearing the pants in the situation. Moment of silence and then he graciously said, "Look, I will tell her. I'll tell her and try and hash it out for you."

And then, uh, a year and a half later, I'm walking out of my home down my driveway and a female's walking up it, and we meet in the middle. And she says to me, "Are you the guy...that had my pants?" This was a moment of truth for me, so I dug very deep, I looked her in the eye and I said, "I never got the peanut butter." That's the story of the first and last time I ever saw Stacy Wu.



Copyright © 2016 Salvatore Vulcano
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"