Editor’s note: The following is a continuing journal of a fictional college student. It is intended to be a humorous and enjoyable feature about an average Joe. It runs weekly, on Fridays. Though written by Iowa State’s own Scott Jacobson, a Daily staff writer, people, places and events detailed below are not analogous to a real student.

November 6, 1998

So there I was, scanning the student directory hoping to stumble across an entry that matched the phone number Chelli had given me, when I thought back to our conversation and remembered her saying that their number wasn’t listed.

So many secrets.

Staring at the little piece of paper with the magic digits on it, I decided to just nut up and give her a call, whatever the hell her name is.

After all, I work well under pressure. I learned a semester of anthropology the morning of the final. I put together an entire ad campaign while watching the “Star Wars” trilogy. I took the GRE on four days notice. I can find out a girl’s name without looking like an ass.

Slowly, I punched in the seven numbers — taking a deep breath before the final one — and brought the receiver to my ear. Here we go.

One ring. No worries.

Second ring. No problem. I’m the man.

Third ring. What am I thinking? I’m calling a girl whose name I don’t even know! Raise your hand if you’re a crackhead.

Down went the receiver.

I suck.

I went through the same ritual a couple more times before I realized that I was completely worthless and weak.

OK, I’ve gotta do this. She’s awesome. She likes me. She wants me to call. She’s been talking about me. Her roommate is hot. Oh wait — bad thought, bad thought.

I had never dialed a phone with my fingers crossed before, but somehow it just seemed fitting.

After three rings, my knee started jumping uncontrollably. I hadn’t been that nervous since, well, the last time I asked someone out. What can I say? I’m a walking ulcer.

With the fourth ring came total stoppage of breath. At this point I couldn’t hang up the phone if I wanted to.

Just as I was about to lose control of bodily functions …

“Hey, this is Chelli and Nikki. Leave a message at the beep.”

Nikki? Her name is Nikki? Out of complete shock and exhilaration, I reacted the only way I knew how.

I hung up.

This is ridiculous. I’ve got to get control of my life. Time to evaluate the situation. Her name is Nikki.

Good news is that I didn’t have to talk to her to find out her name. Bad news is that I panicked and hung up. I didn’t say anything stupid. Good news. I didn’t say anything period. Bad news.

With a newfound sense of confidence and urgency — as well as a newfound sense of her name — I called her back to leave a mac-daddy, Rico Suave message.

The familiar four rings were comforting to hear. The pick-up was followed by her angelic voice, “Hey, this is Chelli and Nikki. Leave a message at the beep.”

So I did.

Calm and collected, I told her it was me and said I was just calling to say, “Hey.” If she wanted to give me a call, she could. Otherwise, I would just give her a call later in the week to see what she was up to.

I hung up, let out an enormous sigh and made my way to the couch.

Exhausted, I laid down, flipped on the TV and smiled when I saw they were having a John Cusack marathon.

“Say Anything” was just ending, and “Better Off Dead” was coming on in 10 minutes. After that, “One Crazy Summer” would top off an uneventful evening of celebrating my telephonic victory.

I must have fallen asleep during “Better Off Dead,” because Eddie woke me up when he got home from the rec and asked me who the message on the machine was for.

“Message?” I asked. “Damn, I must have been out cold. I didn’t even hear the phone ring. I have no idea who it’s for.”

He pressed play, and her voice filled the room.

“Hey, it’s Nikki, just returning your call. I’ll be home all night if you want to give me a call. Oh, by the way, you forgot to leave your number, but I got it off Caller ID. Thank God for the magic box, eh? Anyway, talk to you later.”

Caller ID?

I shook my head and cursed telecommunication as I thought back to my trio of cowardly calls that ended abruptly, as well as the initial encounter with the answering machine. So much for not looking like an ass.