Hickville Area Code

I've spent a lot of time researching this. This being what kind of people live in my town. Some are rednecks for sure. Others may be hicks. Some are just people who like living slow. However, I cannot figure out what category "Mom" belongs in. I can however paint a pretty accurate picture of "Mom's" situation.

Who is "Mom"? Good question, one that I have no answer for.

To me, "Mom" is this woman with a crackling "I've been smoking since I was in the womb, and drinking for even longer" voice who has left me two voicemails. The first one I checked at approximately 2:30 p.m. on Sunday. I was laying in my bed, hazy from just being woken up by my rambunctious roommates, after a horrible night working at a ridiculously ghetto-fab bar.

SceneIt!

Me: "Oh Gosh, I have 7 texts and 1 voicemail, I should listen."

Roommates: "And blah that blah this blah..."

Voicemail: "This is your mother. You're brother's in jail and I'm just calling you to let you know. Can you call me back. But my cell phone is almost outta minutes so call the house. CALL THE HOUSE."

Me: "Guys, this is NOT my mom."

Roommates: "Whaddya mean?"

**Commence re-listening of voicemail on speaker**

Roommates: "You're mom sounds like a crack-whore from Brooklyn!"

Me: "But it's NOT my MOM!"

What is the protocol for mis-left voicemails? It's not like snail-mail that you either "return to sender" or drop in another person's door-slat. So I did what fit my schedule and phone-shy demeanor best. I ignored it.

Tuesday, I get a missed call in class. And a voicemail. From my hometown area code. After class, I happened to be walking with a roommate to the library and checking my voicemail.

Voicemail: "This is your mom again. Your brother's still in jail will you PLEASE call me back."

Me: "Wtf. What now?"

Roommate: "Call her back."

So I called, explained to the woman I wasn't her daughter. "Well this is the number she gave my mother!" WHOA, STOP! To the normal person (i.e. not from Hickville) this means nothing. To me, this gives the me exact situation going on in some little-teeney-weeney-town somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania.

There's a Grandma (probably Gram or Mimi or Mama), a mother, a daughter, and a son. The son is in jail and the daughter is estranged (probably because of pregnancy). The daughter still talks to the Grandma, who gave the Mom a number to call, but gave her a FAKE number on request of the daughter. The son has been chillin' in jail for 3 days and the only one with enough money to bail him out is the estranged daughter who needs the money to feed her new baby and couldn't really give a flying rat's ass about her dumbass brother who got caught selling drugs again.

Well, I told the Mom good luck and to stop calling. All in a tone that clearly relayed that I knew exactly what was going on without even knowing the family name. Honestly, had she told me her last name, I probably could've given her a phone number.

Gotta love Central PA!