The Case of the Tangled Web

Typically, I think of myself as an optimist. My glass is always half full—that is, until I set it on my nightstand and knock it over while trying to drowsily disarm my ear-splitting alarm clock.

But as a pessimistic romantic, I always see my bed as half empty. Which is why I accept every blind date I’m offered. Today I was off to the Corner Café to meet Julia, who I’m told was a perfect match for me. So that either meant she loved unicorn poetry or she was incredibly desperate. All bets on the latter.

Now, a blind date is not like a regular date. In the event of immediate dislike, blind daters can only meet at places where the food is quickly consumed, hence our meeting at the Corner Café. There’s nothing worse than sitting through a fancy two-hour Red Lobster dinner dressed as Batman because you heard your date liked the feline fatale Catwoman, when in fact, she’s called “Catwoman” because she owns 150 cats.

And in cases when the bagel at the coffee shop took too long to consume, blind daters need a backup exit plan. This is typically a friend calling to give you urgent news that forces you to leave immediately, such as your house is on fire or your grandma just died.

At first, Julia seemed quite normal, so I didn’t think the exit plan would be needed. Unlike previous blind dates, she had all of her fingers and toes, and she didn’t ask for $500 upfront. In fact, she offered to pay for our coffee and bagels.

“I’ll pay for this,” she said. “I’m about to win the insurance lottery again.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, two years ago I had water damage to my hardwood floors. The floors were no longer manufactured and had to be replaced throughout my entire house. Yada, yada, yada, I profited over 12 grand.”

“Whatta, whatta, whatta? Care to explain?”

“My insurer gave me $14,000 to replace all the floors. Instead, I paid $1,400 to buff the floors and pocketed the difference. I know…brilliant!”

“Brilliantly dishonest,” I said. “I can’t let you pay for my coffee with ill-gained loot.”

“Oh, that money is long, long gone. I now have more water damage on the same floors. In fact, I’m turning in a claim tomorrow. It’s only a matter of time efore…ka-ching!”

I looked her straight and said, “No-ching is more like it.”

Why was Ace putting the kibash on her ka-ching?

Jonathan Hermann is an IA contributing editor.