I Gave My Number to a Drug Dealer

“I got five on it. Grab your 40, let’s get keyed. I got five on it. Messing with that indo weed. I got five on it. It’s got me stuck and not go back. I got five on it. Partner lets go half on a sack.” ~Luniz, I Got 5 On It

As I have been navigating the single world, I have forced myself to talk to strangers. This is hard for me because of the lessons learned from Dateline, the fact that I am way too nervous to do this alone and…well…yeah, really just Dateline. I should probably ease up on the stranger danger. (I think I am going to write a Dateline Dos and Don’ts pamphlet.)

When I’m with my extroverted pals, they are great at encouraging me to talk to people. In fact, they actually physically nudged me into talking to a person. It turned out to be as weird as you’re imagining. My initial encounter didn’t send off any red flags. He was pleasant and funny. Funny goes a looooonnnngg way with me. Probably too long because I tend to overlook some things. We had a nice conversation, he was quick witted, nice smile, yada yada. He offered to walk me home to which I adoringly replied I had a huge can of mace in my purse. He asked for my number. I said ok. I didn’t really think he was going to call. (Also, I’m told guys don’t call anymore – they text. So much has changed since I was last single. I think only texting and not calling is dumb.)

Then it hit me. Oooohhh! His friend wasn’t a friend, and this errand wasn’t my kind of errand like running to Target to get a bunch of stuff I don’t need.

Wouldn’t you know, I received a text that night? (Yay!) With a smiley face emoji. (Boo!) I forced myself to respond anyway. It was fine. No butterflies with this conversation. I didn’t hear from him after that, so I figured that was the end of it. I didn’t care. He sent me a late night text on a weeknight nine days later asking me what I was doing. I responded with one word. Sleeping. It’s almost midnight, and I’m an adult. I have a job. What am I doing? Really? Also, I forgot about you because it’s been nine days dude. And then….

I ran into him at the same bar I met him the following weekend. This was his spot apparently. He was hanging out in the back. He did come over and say hi. We made some small talk. He left to meet a friend real quick. Then he came back. Alone. He came over and sat down at my table where I was just talking girl smack about him with my friend. You know that conversation…

Me: That dude took nine days to text me and it was super late on a weeknight. Oh yes, please, let’s hang out. (queue dramatic eye roll)

Friend: Fuck that dude.

He was his charming and funny self, so I nearly forgot I was supposed to give him shade. Then he left to run a quick errand asking if I would still be there when he got back “in a few minutes.” I had lost track of time and realized it was midnight. Who runs an errand at midnight? Was it to meet his friend that, I’m guessing, never showed earlier? Then it hit me. Oooohhh! His friend wasn’t a friend, and this errand wasn’t my kind of errand like running to Target to get a bunch of stuff I don’t need. He’s dealing. Awesome. I looked at my friend and said, “You ready to go? I didn’t get divorced to waste time with this shit.” My friend’s response was a spot on, “Yep. Fuck that dude. Let’s go.”

Still feeling the urge to be polite, I texted him I was no longer at the bar. (Why you ask? I have no idea.) I received a “boo!” text in response. I deleted his number. Hopefully he deleted mine. Can we make a phone function where you can delete your number from someone else’s phone so if you meet them under drunk or shady circumstances you can take back your mistake? Like a single lady number take backsies? Ghost number? I don’t know, we can wordsmith the name later. Can someone make that? I’m not capable of anything tech-wise other than ideas. I just recently found out I have a Do Not Disturb function so when assholes text you nine days later around midnight it doesn’t wake you up…

 

Author: Penny Lame

I can find humor in almost everything. These are my stories.

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