As my girlfriend doubled over in laughter, I realized I had been the victim of a smooth operator. In some pictures, he too was shirtless, but in all pictures he was wearing the same saucy grin and looking dead into the camera. 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. Immediately following a 30-second review of the website, I realized I had been gamed. 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). I couldn’t find this place on Yelp at all, and a Google Maps search had turned up some person’s house. After about three minutes, I knew something was amiss. 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. 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. 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.
“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. “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 turned and saw a nondescript guy smiling at me and holding a business card. As I was waiting in line to pay, however, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Not trusting karma, I also decided to treat myself with a bagel on the way home. 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.
And tell him you have his wallet.”ĭT: *Five full seconds of incomprehensive staring* “Oh ok, I guess you’re right. I want you to give it to the person who’s it is.”ĭT: “But how am I going to find him? We got a lot of customers.”
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?”ĭumb Teller: “I’m sorry, you can’t use a card that doesn’t match your ID.” To put it delicately, she was not the sharpest crayon in the box. Anyway, as I started to speak with this teller, I realized immediately why the line had taken so long. 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. 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. 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. 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. Goddamn it, I would have to do this the hard way. 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.
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 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. 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. However, my path to said fridge was quickly derailed as my eye caught the glimpse of brown leather on the sidewalk. 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. 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. The sun was blazing high in the sky as I finished up my shift.