Sorry, Not A Winner

December 11, 2011 at 5:05 am (Sweet sticky things, That's not funny...)

I don’t believe in lying. I don’t like being lied to. If I can’t for the most part believe what a person is telling me, it’s time to move on. In turn, I try to be as diplomatically honest as possible.

Someone borrowed $20 from me the other night. Said she was sick and needed medicine. Okay. Called to check on her later. “I’m feeling much better. Come over?” I went, nobody answered when I arrived.

Three days later, a phone call. “Sorry, I fell asleep and when I woke up I felt awful. I’ve been sick in bed…”

I sorta forgot about it, until the other night. I was chatting with her, and she went on about how she’d taken that $20 I’d loaned her for “medicine” and put it into a video poker machine and won $150. Cool! Where’s my $20?

At the predetermined time, I show up and nobody’s home. I’d just checked before coming. Hmm…

Yep. Uh-huh.

Then I get a text message: “Have money order, can’t cash without ID. It’s worth $20, give me $10 for it?”

I could use ten bucks. “Okay. I’ll take it to my bank.”

Friday night, we have a date. “Can I have some laundry money?”

“Sorry, I’m low on cash right now.” I wasn’t, but I’m not telling her that. I want to hear tonight’s story first.

“Okay. Come on over anyway.”

Earlier in the day, the Nephew had asked me to get some things for him on Amazon. He left a wad of allowance money on my desk. $140. I took the money downtown and deposited it into my account.

As I put the deposit receipt into my wallet, an evil plan began forming. I stuck the deposit receipt into a pocket where it would easily fall out.

It’s time for our Friday date, and “something comes up.” A lot of somethings have been coming up lately. I get the excuse of the day. As I stand in her bedroom while strangers mill about in the living room, I drop the deposit receipt, showing the $140 deposit and resulting balance of $147.69 in my checking account, into her bedside trash.

I left her. Not mad, just said goodnight while she was whispering something to some Freddy Krueger-looking dude that arrived with her friend. I expected her to call in five minutes, wondering where I’d gone?

No call, just a text asking me to bring her Taco Bell. Yeah, I’m feeling all Steppen’ Fetchit right now. I had my props in place, and my lie ready:

“Hey, remember that ten bucks you promised me for cashing your money order? Well, when I heard about that, I bet my last five bucks on a Keno four-spot Special Play and won $140! Too bad you didn’t call back and finish our date. I’d have probably left most of it on your dresser. Oh well, thanks. You did me a favor. I deposited it and paid my credit card bill down. Will try to remember to bring you a taco next time you want to see me.”

My plan felt like evil genius, but I didn’t feel right about it. Then I got to musing about how funny it would be if I actually played her birthday and won something. So I played the aforementioned Keno combination. I shopped for dinner, and checked my ticket:

Sorry, not a winner.

Oh well. I played one more, just in case. Sorry, friend. There goes your “laundry money.”

When I awoke to a lovey-dovey text message, I assumed she found my bank deposit slip.

I texted, “I’d love to come by, but I’m broke. Had to deposit money to make auto-bill pay. What time?”

She hasn’t gotten back to me yet. It’s been about eighteen hours.

Yesterday, December 10, has always been a big day in my life. It brings lots of warm, fuzzy blurry memories.

I doubt I’ll remember it as the day I’d had all I could stands, and I couldn’t stands no more…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: