This is a story about a fine gentleman; a writer and an entrepreneur. I met this man when I was bartending my usual Tuesday morning shift. The restaurant was empty as we had just opened; he walked in and headed straight to the bar.
He orders a beer and strikes up a conversation. We start chatting about all kinds of things; mostly about how lazy and entitled our current generation is. He asks for a recommendation on a good sipping tequila that isn’t terribly expensive. I provide. We continue to chat. I’m really bonding with this old man; he’s kind of got that ‘get off my lawn’ vibe which speaks to my soul. He tells me he’s a writer; has a series coming out soon; a story about a boxer and his struggles of coming to fame. He’s really excited about it; it’s more than just about boxing; it’s about love, of course, and it’s filmed completely in black and white.
A few more beers and sipping tequilas later, he starts telling me about his wife. She should be joining us shortly, he says; she’s just down the street, shopping for a leather couch. He tells me that he’s not fond of leather but she’s the love of his life, so she gets whatever she wants.
We go back and forth a little bit about our hobbies, interests and overall societal issues; we even throw a healthy dose of politics in there without getting too graphic of course; this is a bar after all. We go back to discussing “kids these days”, at which point he tells me about his daughter and how all she wants to do is go to school. “She’s a smart girl and all, God bless her heart, I’m just sick of paying for it all” – he says. She’s on her third degree, and has no desire to actually go out into the “real” world and work; go figure.
We move on to other topics. He proceeds to read my blog, praising me for how brilliant I am. I take every compliment with a grain of salt; it doesn’t phase me as much as I suppose he thought it would. He starts telling me how he is in the process of hiring twelve writers and how the perspective of such a talented female writer as myself would be a refreshing and necessary addition to the mix. Again, I don’t think anything of it. This is LA; everyone talks out of their ass when it comes to “business opportunity”. He then informs me that he too has a blog; he’s not doing it for the money but to merely keep himself humble and sane. “Go ahead” – he says, “Read it now, I want you to see my credentials and that I’m not full of shit”. I tell him that I will read it when I get home; I am at work after all.
Sipping tequila turns into shooting tequila, and the beer refills keep coming. He orders some food. Another patron sits down at the bar; a younger lady. He takes this opportunity to switch focus and get acquainted with her, as I take the same opportunity to walk away and do some other things around the bar. It’s always nice when customers find each other; takes the ‘entertainer’ edge off the bartender.
I hear them talking. He’s pulling out all the stops to make sure this girl is completely enthralled with his persona; and she is. She’s swallowing his every word. Meanwhile, I’m thinking, dude, where’s your beloved wife? It’s been two hours.
He’s starting to get louder and slightly more obnoxious; demanding that the girl sitting next to him look him in the eyes when she’s talking to him. That sorta thing happens when alcohol progresses its way into your system. I make my way back over. He immediately calms down, takes a pause, and says “I’ll have another beer; and give her another margarita, what the hell, put it on my tab”
I figured that moment was as good a time as any, to inform him that his “tab” is currently at $143 and I’m more than happy to continue to leave it open but if he’s going to be ordering more drinks, for both himself and other patrons, I’m going to need to hold on to a credit card.
He leans back and smiles. “My wife has my credit card” – he says. And just like that, it all starts to make sense. What’s coming next is pretty predictable, I’m sure. I ask him if he has cash. The answer is ‘No’. “You want me to go grab it from her? She’s just down the street” – he proclaims. I of course advise him that that’s not how it works and if he’s planning on leaving the restaurant without paying, I’m going to at the very least have to hold onto his license. “It’s in my Jeep” – he says. An involuntary chuckle comes out of my mouth. I tell him to call his wife. He says the phone is also in his “Jeep”… Sure it is buddy.
I get it, the joke’s on me. I should have asked for his card in the very beginning. All I can do at this point is call and notify the owner; I explain the situation and he tells me to keep an eye on the guy until he gets there.
Sure enough, not much time passes before the old man, having had his bluff called, tries to stumble out of the restaurant. The owner attempts to stop him and collect the money, which as I’m sure you can imagine, doesn’t go well. It could be worse I suppose, but watching a guy piss himself and pass out on the floor isn’t the best end case scenario.
“Should we call the cops?”, I ask. “There’s no point”, the owner replies. They’re not going to detain him, and if they do, you’ll just end up with a court date as a character witness and we’ll never see the money anyway. So that was the end of that.
Quite the perfect scam you got going there, Mister Entrepreneur.
So, even though the phrase ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’ generally carries a more empathetic meaning behind it; like, just because something/ someone may not look appealing, you should give them a chance… Given the aforementioned, I do believe that the phrase stretches way beyond that. Perhaps, you shouldn’t give someone the trust they evidently do not deserve even though they seem to meet the criteria of a trustworthy person… Ya feel me? Pathological liars have no shame; but you have to live with the knowledge that you’ve let some homeless Ass-wipe pull one over on you.