Note: This post was from my old blog. Ideas and beliefs were those of a much younger soul and may no longer be representative of who I am.
What makes this story especially entertaining are the names of the people involved, as each happened to be the name of a character from one of the most popular TV shows from my adolescence. Unfortunately, out of the goodness of my heart, I am going to have to change them. Instead, I’ll use Saved By The Bell. Warning, this story is a bit lengthy due to the many instances of absurdity. I could not leave them out, as they’re just too good.
I had been talking to this guy Zach for about 3 months sort of as a “something to do when there’s nothing to do.” He had no real job, he was inconsistent, and he had god awful communication skills, but he seemed to have potential to be successful, he claimed to really care about me, and I thought we were on the same wavelength. He was kind, affectionate, funny, and most of all, he was fine as shit. Now, while I knew there was little chance that this relationship would ever sprout into something real, I was still decently emotionally invested in it at the time, despite the fact that the nicest date he took me on was to Subway, where I was only allowed a 6-inch. A footlong was a luxury beyond his means.
We had a few hiccups here and there along the road, but generally we had a great time together. He decided he wanted to pursue a career as a policeman, which I was very supportive of. I was glad he was doing something. He chose to go out of state to do a 14 day crash course to get some of the necessary training.
Red Flag #1: I didn’t hear from him for at least the first 4 or 5 days of his course, he didn’t respond to my texts with more than a word or return my calls. I was pissed, and to make it worse – I would see on my Instragram news feed that he was liking a hundred (probably an underestimate) girls’ pictures, yet not responding to my texts or calling me back…. or even liking MY pictures. Cardinal sin.
Eventually, toward the end of his course, he reached out and talked to me like nothing was wrong. He didn’t even understand how I could be so upset. I caved in an accepted his explanation and sorry ass apology. The day he was getting back from camp happened to be the same day I was flying home for Christmas. He landed about 3 hours before I left so I agreed to pick him up at the airport and we would hang out for an hour or so, then he would drop me off. The plan was that he was supposed to bring my car back to my apartment then get a ride to his place. For all I knew, this was what happened.
Red Flag #2: While I was in Seattle I was scrolling leisurely through my Instagram. I noticed a picture of him and his boys. I liked the photo and kept scrolling. Then I saw he had posted another picture of them and there was a comment at the bottom that said “You look hot in that white hat.” I looked closer to see what he had on and I realized he was wearing MY white/red Chicago Bulls snapback. Immediately I scrolled back to the other picture of them and read the comments. Zach had written some idiotic list of hashtags like “#threemuskateers #fuckwitus #gucci #trojans #blahblah.” Wondering what Gucci had to do with anything I took a closer look – this motherfucker had on MY Gucci scarf!!! Please tell me what kind of grown man 1. borrows his girl’s clothing and 2. doesn’t ask first?! When I texted him to ask him why he was rocking MY shit without asking, he acted offended and said I was selfish and should learn to share. You’re kidding me, right?
Fastforward a few days. I land at LAX and Zach comes to pick me up… in MY car. I asked him why on earth he still had my car. He told me that the day I left, his roommate couldn’t come get him for a couple hours so he just drove mine to his house and left it there until today. Okay, fine, whatever. He said he filled up the tank though, since he had driven it. It was sweet, so I said thanks, then made sure he put premium in the tank (mind you, there’s a huge sign above the gas cap that says premium only). He responded, “No, why, it’s just an Acura?” No respect.
So we swing by his house to get his car and then he follows me back to my place. I notice there’s two Starbucks cups in the center console. I hadn’t left any there so I took a look at them. One said A.C. Slater, and the other said Kelly. I didn’t really know what to make of it, but obviously my car had not sat at the house all week like he had assured me. I asked him about it that night and he said that on the way back to his house the day I left, he picked up his cousin Slater. I said, “then why does one cup say Kelly?!” He said, “oh, you know they always get the names wrong.” I have never heard of someone mistaking Zach for Kelly… but how mad was I really going to get over a Grande Iced Caramel Latte? I let it slide.
I enter into evidence, a photograph of the actual cup (I guess now you know the real name):
The next day, I told the story to my friend EJ and a couple of people from work. Everyone confirmed that it seemed fishy, and even more ridiculous that their names were Zach, Slater & Kelly. EJ actually called me a complete dumbass for believing Zach’s bullshit, but I yelled at him and told him he didn’t know Zach and he should shut up. For whatever reason… EJ’s comment popped back up in my head that night, so I went down to my car and decided to take look around.
I found his phone charger, a food wrapper and backpack in the back seat. I found a Starbucks receipt on the ground. Then, when I opened the front passenger door, I found the proverbial murder weapon. Under the seat I found …. and I still can’t believe this to this day…. a BRA. It was a 36D Fredericks of Hollywood, no-underwire, nude bra that was at least 5 years old. Immediately, three pressing concerns popped into my head: 1. What kind of female buys bras from Fredericks? 2. If you’re a 36D, underwire is really a must, and 3. HOW IN GOD’S NAME DID THIS BIG TITTIED CHICK’S BRA GET UNDER MY SEAT?
Needless to say, I was livid. At this point I had already known Zach was a total joke, but a bra?! In my car?! I called him and told him he needed to come over right away. He said he couldn’t and asked what was up. I asked calmly whose bra was in my car. He played dumb. When I continued to ask who drove my car and how a girl ended up removing her bra in it, he told me I was being irrational and I quote, “I’m NOT going to apologize.” Motherfucker what? I hung up. 15 minutes later his cousin Slater calls me and said he took the keys from Zach’s house and took my car and picked up “his little shawty” and took her to Starbucks and shopping at Beverly Center and she changed in my car. Sounds good buddy.
The web of lies just kept getting deeper and Zach kept denying and turning around blame on me. He really tried to convince me that all of this was somehow my fault. I couldn’t even understand how this absurdity… this level of trash… this ratchetness…. how any of this was even occurring in my life. I’m just an innocent kid from the suburbs with a fancy private school college education. This isn’t supposed to happen to me.
Clearly, my decision to be involved with Zach was a poor one. Lesson learned.
Moral of the story:
1. Hide Ya Gucci, Hide Ya Snapbacks
2. Listen to EJ
3. Don’t ignore red flags. Even if they’re small, they’re usually an indication of a much bigger issue that will reveal itself in time in the form of a monstrosity of a bra.
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