100 Bad Dates: #21
Date #21 robbed me blind. Not in an emotional way, but a felonious one. This happened during a time in my life when I was doing a little too much drinkin’ and a little too much lovin’, and it was bound to catch up with me. But I hadn’t seen enough Lifetime movies to know that yet.
Date #21 robbed me blind. Not in an emotional way, but a felonious one. This happened during a time in my life when I was doing a little too much drinkin’ and a little too much lovin’, and it was bound to catch up with me. But I hadn’t seen enough Lifetime movies to know that yet.
I met him at a Waffle House (I know!), where I was waiting for a friend who was finishing out her shift there. We were planning to go hang out at our favorite bar and tell outrageous lies to whomever would listen. It was what we did for fun whenever we saw each other: make up completely preposterous life stories and feed them to strangers. Our favorite was “The Heiress.”
Date #21 came in to grab a bite and sat a few stools away from me at the counter. I didn’t turn, as my friend and I were mid ludicrous story (and she didn’t turn, as she was a horrible waitress). When he said, “Excuse me,” we glanced at him, turned back to each other, grinned, and exchanged a “What’s this?” sort of expression.
He was pretty with olive skin and light eyes (think Adrian Grenier, without the Entourage), and my friend immediately started spinning a yarn.
“I was JUST saying to my friend here that Paris Hilton is a poor excuse for an heiress.” She gestured to me. “I mean, SHE’S just inherited millions and still hangs out at Waffle House.”
“Congratulations,” he shrugged, and ordered his food.
While Date #21 ate, my friend kept trying to draw him into a conversation that got more and more absurd. She told him that I was from Southern California (true), came from a famous family (does infamous count?), and went to school with celebuspawn and trust fund babies (ish, but it was no West Beverly). She said that a relative had just died and left me a fortune. He seemed completely unimpressed, but he turned to me once he finished eating and said, “So, where are we going now, Paris?”
The three of us headed to the bar, Date #21 in his car, us following behind. We had some drinks. Ok, many drinks. My friend and I danced the way that drunk girls do and ran up quite a tab. Good thing I was an heiress!
At one point, Date #21 left for about fifteen minutes to buy cigarettes at a nearby convenience store. When he came back, he stayed for another half hour or so before saying he had to be up early for work. He gave me his number and a hug, suggesting that we should hang out again. My friend and I stayed and danced until closing. She paid our tab, and we stumbled around the corner to her house to sleep it off.
In the morning (by which I mean noonish) we walked over to get my friend’s car and rustle up some greasy hangover helper. We stopped at an ATM so I could buy breakfast, but my debit card wouldn’t work. I knew I had just been paid, so we headed to another machine, thinking the first one was malfunctioning.
Again, nothing.
I called the bank. They told me all of my funds had been withdrawn in two separate transactions the night before – one just before midnight, one right after. I insisted that I hadn’t done it, and they froze the card and started an investigation. For the time being, I was completely broke. If only I’d really had that inheritance! Instead, I had the pleasure of calling my landlord and tearfully pleading my case. Thankfully, he was pretty understanding.
A few days later, my bank called. They had security camera pictures of someone using my debit card. As you’ve no doubt surmised, it was Date #21. I went to the police with his phone number (which turned out to be fake, duh) and license plate info (which I remembered because it was personalized and we drove behind him. Foolish!). He admitted to taking my purse out of the bar that night but told them that I had been drunk and said that he could have the money. All of the money in my account? Why, then, did he give me a fake phone number?
They interviewed my friend who backed up my story, but pressured her to admit that she hadn’t heard every single word that was said between us. We DID have a good laugh about whether or not he believed the heiress story and how disappointed he must have been when he saw my balance. In the end, it was a case of he said/she said, and he wasn’t charged. I straightened up after that and decided not to 1) keep my PIN written down in my purse and 2) ever leave my purse alone in a bar. Expensive lessons that were *not* FDIC insured.
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The Checkout Girl
The Checkout Girl is Jennifer Lemons. She’s a storyteller, comedian, and musician. If you don’t see her sitting behind her laptop, check the streets of Richmond for a dark-haired girl with a big smile running very, very slowly.
Notice: Comments that are not conducive to an interesting and thoughtful conversation may be removed at the editor’s discretion.
I just carry my debit card and ID in my front pocket everywhere now. A nice young lady in the Ikea food line informed me, while I was placing it in my back pocket, that it was how her friend was robbed blind. I’m not a purse person, but I am a jeans at almost all times person.
That’s one spensive lesson!
First time I’ve ever learned about too much alcohol and the loss of expensive items included: #1. The Navy and #2., St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands.
I was 19 and just experienced my first drink of Mojo in a bar that was later deemed off-limits by the commanding officer. I had left my newly purchased camera and four used rolls of film on a table with my “buddies” when I went to use the bathroom. Came back not only to find my buddies gone but the camera bag as well. Expensive loss since they were the only rolls of film I had for the world cruise we were on (didn’t give a damn about the camera).
I guess we all learn expensive lessons.
what a tool. mr. clever and his personalized plates. gah. lesson learned, but ugh!
OHhhhhhhhh what a bad idea! This was a disaster from the very beginning! I’ve done the “from socal, just here for the weekend” story as well, but UHHHHHHHH I live in Canada, so it was less believable. They didn’t believe my name was Summer, either. Bummer.
Well, you earned that one kiddo. Giant red flags everywhere, yet you were blinded by the cheese-n-eggs and raisin toast. Compounding matters were the anticipation of an afternoon of 80-proof debauchery and tickling prospect of a trip to third base. Rookie.
True story: My friend and I once spun a yarn to a couple of 18ish girls that we were Canadian Police newly graduated from the Academy in Toronto. (We were IN Canada at a bar, hence the 18 year old girls. Hey, we were only 20ish anyway).
It didn’t result in us getting robbed, but it did result in us getting SOMETHING.
No, not VD. Smartypantses.
I too learned this lesson. But alas much to late. I married her, she drained my account when she left. Still theft I tell you.
I have had my xbox stolen before though.
Thankfully I am insured now.
I don’t understand how this guy wasn’t charged!!! What wrong with law enforcement!!!!!
Sorry about all the !!!!!