The Scum of the Earth

First off, I'd like to give one big giant belly laugh to everyone who commented on yesterday's post. I had a grand ol' time sitting here checking email after email from all of you guessing what's going on in my life. I felt like Harriet the Spy being all secretive. I mean I did want to be her when I was little. Harriet that is, not Michelle Trachtenwhattyberg. Because let's face it, all she grew up to be was Georgina Sparks. Puke. But the spy part was my jam. I even wore my rain jacket and carried a composition notebook around the neighborhood in an attempt to find who knows what. Totally the coolest girl in school, I know. At least I didn't get paint dumped on my head...

But today I'm not so happy. Because today I got scammed...wait for it...on Craigslist. Shocker of the century right there huh? Who would've ever thunk it. The answer to that question would be a general consensus of "everybody". 

The story goes a little like this:

Erin wants to go to the Matchbox Twenty / Goo Goo Dolls concert this Saturday so she can sing 3 A.M. and Slide at the top of her lungs and not have anyone judge her for it. 

Erin goes on Stub Hub like a normal person and is thiiiiiis close to purchasing tickets. You know, the safe and secure method of ticket buying. Aka the smart and sensible route. But all of those things I am apparently not because...Erin then says "screw this" and enters the letters of doom into her laptop - 

And there's where we spot the first mistake - going on Craigslist in the first place.

Except for poor little Erin doesn't think this way because she's done countless transactions through the skeezy site and everything has played out as dandy as lion up until this point. So there's about one second of hesitation before she agrees to meet up with a girl to purchase the tickets. HARD TICKETS. Like real ones, not copies of a print out from an email. They were also half the cost of the same exact seats on Stubhub. Oh and there was a receipt for them too. Sounds flippin' fantastic Mr. Fox.

And there's where we spot the second mistake - it's too good to be true. But whatever. Erin heads down to Union Square all innocent like to meet up with the ticket chick anyway because no one can stop her since she's a little sweetheart and is invincible to scammers.

So I have her phone number, we're meeting outside of a bank, it's all good. She shows up, hands me a Ticket Master envelope with the two hard tickets inside. They're shiny, they're perforated, they say the same seats from the post, the same ones I checked to see if they were in fact real on Stub Hub, there's the teeny tiny fine print on the back. They look great. I hand her the cash, she says thanks. I'm about to leave and then go "Wait where's the receipt?" and she says something along the lines of "Oh no, I'm so sorry I forgot it at home while rushing out to meet you. I can email it to you as soon as I get back though."


But no...I didn't see it. There was that one split second again that I was like well can't you just send it right now from your email on your phone? But I just didn't say it. I don't know why but I didn't. I was just so excited that I was going to get to sing baby's black balloon makes her fly so I stuffed the envelope in my Longchamp and skipped down the street. 

Then I got a pedicure and there weren't any Cosmo magazines telling me that it's okay to wear stripes on top and polka dots on bottom this season (it's actually not okay in case you're wondering) so I started looking at the tickets. And somewhere between the scrub and the massage I got a funny feeling they were fake. The transaction was just so sketchy. So then I started googling "How to tell if your tickets are fake" and one of the first things on there told me to whip my 20/20 vision out and actually read that tiny ass fine print on the back. 

"If it's written like someone just got off the boat from a foreign country and typed shit up on a computer then you've been scammed."

That's what the website told me. So then I was like holy eff, it can't be, and I started reading. The first sentence on the ticket read something along the lines of "If lost or stoled....something something something...and then something that was spelled wrong...and then maximum penalty may be apply...something something."


This is where I blew up the chicks spot like Armageddon on steroids. I called her a total of 25 times. And got the f*ck button all 25 times. Then I started texting her the rudest and I mean THEE rudest shit my wholesome heart could come up with. Like four letter words that start with the third letter of the alphabet. Words that I don't ever call anyone. I told her there was a spot reserved in hell for her. A spot underneath a city bus wheel for her. A spot in the toilet right before Fat Bastard took a dump in it after a night of Mexican. Oh you name it, I most likely said it. 

But I never received an answer and there was nothing I could do. It was all over. And now I sit here and wonder how in the hell there are actually people like that out there. People that have no moral decency whatsoever. People that will walk all over anyone stupid enough to lay down for them. The world is a sick and twisted place. But then I remember my happy as a clam post from yesterday. And then I remember it's just money. And not even that much money. I also remember that I'm good, I was raised right, I have morals, I am a decent person. 

And at the end of the day who's really losing in the grand scheme of things? Not me with my lighter wallet and fake tickets, but the "See You Next Tuesday" walking around with a heavier one and some shitty ass karma.

That's all I have today. I'm heading out early to go be happy at my happy place with $3 PBR's and some cute Yankees at the Stadium. It's hump day after all, and that means we have to be happier than a camel on one. So be good to one another. And don't go on Craigslist...

post signature