The sun was blazing high in the sky as I finished up my shift. Six hours of providing security (checking IDs) for the shittiest, drunkest people pouring out of Wrigley Field had my nerves already on edge but I was glad to be done for the weekend. I could think of nothing but the cold beer in my fridge, and I eagerly awaited a night in with the girlfriend, chowing down on some takeout and falling asleep in the middle of a New Girl episode we had both seen before. Love truly is beautiful sometimes.
However, my path to said fridge was quickly derailed as my eye caught the glimpse of brown leather on the sidewalk. Upon further inspection, I realized it was a wallet, lacking any form of ID, but filled with credit cards and even a very temping frozen yogurt gift card. I stood there for a long moment, trying to convince myself that someone else would come along and help reunite the wallet with its owner and that I should just put it back and head home. However, despite my aching feet making a compelling case, I decided to be a good samaritan (possibly in a desperate attempt to make up for the degenerates I had been dealing with all day) and return this wallet to its owner.
I found a Chase bank card in the wallet with a name so generically white, I knew my chances of looking the guy up on Facebook were nil. Goddamn it, I would have to do this the hard way. Sadly committed to my selfless act, I walked several blocks to the nearest Chase and opened the door to find that the twenty-person line started about one foot in front of me. Excellent. Excellent.
“So glad I’m doing this. I better get a blowjob as soon as I get home as karma,” I thought to myself, knowing in my heart of hearts that that wouldn’t be the case. Finally, after what seemed like half an hour, (because it was) I arrived at the front of the line and got to speak to the one teller on duty. Side note – seriously Chase? One teller on duty for a whole bank? Do you guys operate on the same ideals as Walmart does with their cashiers? Your back room is behind a big glass wall; I can see the other four bankers sitting on their thumbs doing nothing while I waste my life in life. Anyway, as I started to speak with this teller, I realized immediately why the line had taken so long. To put it delicately, she was not the sharpest crayon in the box.
Me: “Hello, I found this wallet on the ground with a Chase card in it, and I was hoping you could return it to the owner?”
Dumb Teller: “I’m sorry, you can’t use a card that doesn’t match your ID.”
Me: “N…no. I don’t want to use it. I want you to give it to the person who’s it is.”
DT: “But how am I going to find him? We got a lot of customers.”
Me: “You can…look up the account. In your database. On that computer in front of you. And then call the number. And tell him you have his wallet.”
DT: *Five full seconds of incomprehensive staring* “Oh ok, I guess you’re right. I’ll take care of it.”
Well, it took way longer than I wanted it to, and for a second there I thought I was going to get thrown out of the bank for yelling at an employee, but my good deed of the day was finally finished. Now to reap the rewards. Not trusting karma, I also decided to treat myself with a bagel on the way home. As I was waiting in line to pay, however, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and saw a nondescript guy smiling at me and holding a business card. “Hey man, I was behind you in the bank and thought it was really cool that you went through the trouble of returning that wallet,” he said. “I think it’s awesome that there are people that still try and do good things for others, and I wanted to offer you a free massage at my work in appreciation.” I was taken pleasantly taken aback, accepted the card, and walked home with a refreshed spirit. I was not in a dire need of a massage, but I knew if I played my cards right and told my girlfriend I had “booked us a couples massage,” I would be getting that karmic blowjob after all.
The plan went off without a hitch, with my girlfriend being very appreciative as I called to book us an appointment for the following day. Of course, I wasn’t going to just blindly have my girlfriend and I go in for a massage without doing some research on the place, so as we were getting ready to head out the following morning, I decided to check the Yelp reviews. After about three minutes, I knew something was amiss. I couldn’t find this place on Yelp at all, and a Google Maps search had turned up some person’s house. Thinking how strange it was that Google was messing up like that, I decided to actually check out the website on the card for the first time (I know, I’m a shame to my generation).
Immediately following a 30-second review of the website, I realized I had been gamed. The web page, which seemed to have been created on Microsoft Paint, was nothing but shots of the guy I had met rubbing down shirtless men in his living room. In some pictures, he too was shirtless, but in all pictures he was wearing the same saucy grin and looking dead into the camera. Son of a bitch. As my girlfriend doubled over in laughter, I realized I had been the victim of a smooth operator. I like to think I have a pretty good grasp of the world around me, but in one fell swoop, this Justin guy hit on me (sucessfuly, no less) without my knowledge. I couldn’t even be mad. The fact that this guy had offered me – a straight male – a free massage and I accepted it without hesitation just shows how good his game is. Had I not thought to check his website, I would no doubt be trapped in some guy’s house, getting the worst massage of my life, because at that point it would have been too rude to leave. Keep your head on a swivel out there guys. Justin is good. Real good. .
The following story was told to me over brunch by one of my friends, and I decided the world needed to hear it. If you have a hilarious story that you’ve heard or shared over bottomless mimosas, email it to me at firstname.lastname@example.org and I’ll use my gift of words to share it with the internet.