If I Stole OJ Simspon's Mail, Here's How It Happened
We have this great website in Dade County that lets you look up people who own property here. All you have to do is enter their name and you get a street address, plot description, appraisal amount and often an aerial photo. This is immensely useful for placing liens, looking up friends to see how much their house is worth, and, you know, maybe to see where OJ Simpson lives. So say I might have been sitting around stone sober with a friend of mine at the computer back in the days before I had a blog, and say I may have decided it might be fun to see where the Juice was calling home these days.
Turned out that is was a ranch house with an enormous front yard and about a 200-foot driveway leading back to the street in Kendall. I did not learn this from an aerial photo, mind you. Lacking anything better to do midweek in December after school got out, we decided to drive by. Then we decided to stop. And get out. And maybe walk up the driveway to OJ’s door just to see if he’d come out. As luck would have it, the Juice’s Navigator was missing from the driveway, so we figured he must have been out on a late night search for the real killers. And by “real killers” of course, I mean strippers and cocaine. But as we walked back down the driveway, we noticed a mailbox.
Now you’d think a guy as nefarious as Orenthal James Simpson would at least have a mail slot, if not a whole separate P.O. box to keep bored college kids from coming by and taking his Carpet Cleaning coupons. But then again, I guess good decision making has never been OJ’s strong suit, and so it was he had a stand alone mailbox in his driveway. From the looks of it, the Juice had been out Real-Killer hunting for a while as his mailbox featured not only copious amounts Pizza deals, but a couple of back issues of The Flyer. In case he was looking for some used furniture or something. I look at my friend, he looks at me, and we grab it and run. I don’t think I have ever covered 200 feet in less time than I did that night, stolen mail in hand running to my car from OJ’s house. We could not stop high-fiving and laughing as we drove back to our Kendall Townhouse not three miles away.
It would have been cool enough to steal the mail of a Hall Of Fame running back turned non-convicted double murderer. There is something vaguely surreal about reading a piece of junk mail that begins “Dear ORENTHAL SIMPSON: Have you considered refinancing your mortgage? I’m Hector Padilla and if you call me now I can lock you in at a low, low rate of only 6.5%.” Or better still the offers to roll over CD’s in his children’s names (hmmm, hiding some assets are we?). But I do believe the coup de gras was when we got to the bottom of the stack of bills ($599 a month for that Navigator, 2 months past due) and found a massively thick envelope from the good people at Nextel. Addressed to one Orenthal J Simpson. Yep, we had OJ’s cell phone bill.
On the bill were not only about 20 pages of calls on the Juice’s phone, but also about 10 pages each for both of his kids. OJ, it seems, makes a LOT of calls between 2 and 4 AM. No idea who those could be to. It reasons, though, that a lot of the numbers on his record were to other celebrities, most notably golf buddy Lawrence Taylor. Did we have the patience to go through and find out who all these people were? Hell the fuck no. But the bill is somewhere in a box in my friend’s garage, so maybe someday when I’m bored. At that time, however, what we were in possession of was OJ’s cell number.
If you ever come in possession of the cell number of a notorious celebrity, let me tell you never give it to anyone. Because while you may keep it in your phone to show off to friends but only call once when you’re REALLY drunk on Cinco De Mayo (inviting an equally drunk returned call demanding to know who it was) your jackass friends may not show such restraint and eventually said celeb will change his number. Of course, it WAS Nextel, so he may have just realized, like everyone else with Nextel , that the service is shit and switched over. Regardless, if you look in my phone right between Novarr and Patrice you may see a number belonging to a guy with two initials that may look rather familiar. You may, that is, if I had done this. Which I did not. But if I had, that’s how it would have happened.