People often ask why I enjoy writing about relationships.
Aside from the fact that I find male-female interactions fascinating, writing about them is the best way to make sense out of my dating life, which once ranged from the difficult to the ridiculous. I’m in a happy relationship now, but when I was dating strenuously, I had a plethora of bizarre encounters that were simply too good not to share.
One of my favorites is a very brief encounter with a man that I met while walking down the street.
What’s His Name?
He was casually leaned against a silver BMW. As I approached he extended his hand. “My name is Chase,” he said with a cheesy crooked-toothed grin, as though his name implied a dashing, insanely rich and misunderstood soap opera character.
He made a point of letting me know that the BMW was indeed his. I felt as though I was forced to admire it, and when I did, he shrugged it off and, for no real reason, volunteered that he also had a Corvette that he kept in storage.
I gave him my number against my best judgment, and he used it three hours later.
As I was finishing my Thai takeout, I answered the phone and heard “Hi gorgeous” on the other end. I asked who was calling (as though I received hundreds of such calls on the regular).
My anonymous caller was humbled: “Uh . . . it’s Chase? We met this afternoon.”
We chatted for a few minutes, and he was kind of charming on the phone. I learned that he was in real estate and had income property.
He asked me out for the following afternoon. I originally declined, but he talked me into it.
The next day, Chase arrived ½ hour late and began the date by saying that he lost his wallet. He apologized for his scruffiness. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed and thrown on the first thing he could find – a frayed polo shirt and a pair of faded, dingy jeans. He casually told me that a crazy ex had broken into his house and stolen all of the rest of his clothes.
Oh no! What had I gotten myself into?
He hadn’t made any plans, so we decided to go to the Water Tower mall. I agreed. We would be in a well-populated location. Not much chance of abduction.
He asked if I minded paying for parking (did I have a choice?), and we went to a few of his favorite clothing stores (although, by his appearance, I would’ve bet $100 that he shopped in dumpsters). He was recognized by the salesmen, and they called him by a name that I couldn’t detect – but I knew it wasn’t Chase. I dismissed it, thinking that I must have misunderstood.
While continuing our stroll, Chase asked if there was anything I wanted. Anything at all. He said it would be his treat. I didn’t understand this offer from a man with no wallet who couldn’t afford to park his car. Smelling a scam, I declined. He seemed miffed, so we headed to the car.
Before I knew it we were on the expressway, heading south to visit his mother. I was officially a hostage.
I’m glad I went; I learned a lot. First, the Corvette that he bragged about actually belonged to a friend. Second, the rental properties were owned by his mother. Then, I found out that his name wasn’t even Chase. His family called him Chaz, which was likely a nickname for Charles.
On the way home, I asked why he lied about his name. He admitted that Chase was his name for himself – his new identity.
The whole thing was too Dateline-esque, so I decided that I if I ever made it out of the car alive, I would never see Chase/Chaz/Cheesy/Chintzy or whatever the hell his name was, ever again.
What’s-his-name called a few days later to ask me out. I was brutally honest and told him that I had no interest in seeing him again.
He scoffed rudely and told me that he hoped I got my life together. Not really one to bite my tongue, I retorted that I hoped he did the same. He called me an uptight bitch, and I called him an arrogant deluded pathological liar who’s not even sure of his own name.
He hung up on me and never called again. It was a crazy day, but it gave me a great story!
Stay Warm Divas,