This past weekend at the ECW/SmackDown live events, obviously it's common knowledge and everybody knows that wrestlers travel together to save money. Expenses include: rental car, hotel, stuff like that. Traveling with extra guys, you can swap drivers on the road when you're tired.
Well, we had a big five-day loop starting the day after Christmas; we went to Hershey, Penn., Cleveland, Dayton, Ohio, Evansville, Ind., and ended up in Gainesville, Fla. for ECW on Sci Fi on Jan. 2. On this particular loop, I was traveling with an old friend of mine and his partner (we're not going to name their names to protect the innocent, or not-so-innocent in this case). In Cleveland, somebody picked up a phone number from a young lady at a Bally's, and on the way from Dayton to Evansville, we were able to stop and stay at my apartment -- which, of course, saved us more money. It's all about staying cheap.
What I didn't realize is that the one individual who got said phone number decided to wantonly tear it up and throw it on my apartment floor. Now, I don't know if many of you know this, but I have a girlfriend. So, Tuesday night -- I had forgotten about this -- I received a phone call from my very lovely, but very angry girlfriend and the only thing I heard on the other line was, "Who's Jennifer?" And I said, "I don't know. Who's Jennifer?" I thought it was a trick question. She said, "Well, you tell me because I found her phone number in your dress pants pocket."
So, I had no idea what was going on and I had no answers, and the only thing I could really do was laugh. I realized it wasn't funny when I elicited the response, "I'm glad you think this is funny. When you come home, you better have some answers or you're in trouble."
I didn't get any sleep that night because I stayed up wondering who the hell Jennifer was, and why I had her phone number in my pants pocket. And as soon as I got home Tuesday, I called the number and left the following message: "Hi, Jennifer. My name's Punk, I'm a professional wrestler for WWE -- ECW specifically -- and I have a very nice girlfriend who is very, very mad at me because I have somehow come in contact with your phone number that was in my pants pocket. If you have any recollection of ever meeting me or giving me your phone number, can you please call me back and clear it up so my girlfriend doesn't throw me out of the apartment?"
A half-hour later, the young lady called me back and cleared up the whole story. But, for a good 16 hours, I was having a heart attack because I really had no recollection of ever meeting anybody named Jennifer, let alone getting their phone number because, damn it, I'm a good boy.