Jesus, God, and Mary vs. The Smooth Operator

Being a good Samaritan often pays off in unexpected ways. At least that is how it works according to what I've read - I can't swear I've ever acted as the "Good Samaritan." At least until last Monday afternoon.

My dear readers, you may not believe this, but I just happened to be sitting in the Fillmore Pub. Drinking a glass of water.

While enjoying my tasty wet beverage, I was working on a blog post that I intended to publish before the end of the year (I was only about 15 hours late). It was then that a young woman stepped through the doorway. She stopped there and looked over the various clusters of people in the bar. This was possible as it was not yet 6:00 and the manager had not yet lowered the lights to levels lower than one might find in most caves.

I have to say it came as no surprise when the young lady once she espied my devilishly handsome face and my adonis-like features, she made a beeline in my direction.

"You looked like the nicest person in here," she announced (rather unnecessarily), "and I hate to ask, but I was hoping you would let me use your phone."

I had seen this young lady outside in the frigid weather wearing a light jacket and trying to keep warm in the arms of her boyfriend. I promptly ignored her at the time. It's hard to resist the years of training I undertook when living in New York of the 1980s.

Clearly she had spotted me arriving at the Fillmore Pub and could not resist creating this thin excuse to come talk to me.

Telling me her name was Sarah (not her real name, or I don't think it is - nevertheless, it isn't the name she offered), she maintained the charade by taking my phone and spending the next 15 minutes calling number after number, occasionally leaving cryptic messages like, "I just got into town and I am stuck in downtown Plano. Can you come get me?"

She finally reached a live person and I helped her give directions to the person on the other end of the connection. I knew she wanted to spend more time with me, but as luck would have it, my friend Susan showed up at just this moment. I fear the girl misunderstood my relationship with Susan, and made a quick (and likely embarrassed) exit.

I checked my phone and saw that Sarah had made about ten calls to five or six different phone numbers. None of them looked like toll numbers, so I plugged my phone into a charger and pretty much forgot about my noble deed and its possible ramifications.

Susan and I kept each other company and I drank some beverages other than water. And that was all there was to it.

Wait - didn't I say something about noble deeds paying off in unexpected ways? Why yes, yes I did.

Much later that evening, while I was re-familiarizing myself with Chris Carter's oeuvre - someone was running an X-Files marathon - the payoff became manifest.

My phone gave off its familiar IMS notification tone, and I was presented with several messages, all from an unfamiliar number.

Immediately, it's pretty clear to me that these texts come from a none too bright male who knows Sarah, at least slightly, but I have strong doubts that his intentions are chivalrous. Aside from the obvious misspelling (your for you're is one of my greatest pet peeves), his lame, and pathetically cheap invite to a casino pretty much convinced me I was dealing with a douche-bag. And I don't mean that in a nice way.

I was intrigued, and since I saw this as my reward for being such a saintly and noble "man for others," I decided to find out a little bit more about this Smooth Operator. But before I launched into any outright pranskter-ish antics, I decided to be up front with the guy and give him a little bit of a heads up.

So, I responded.

I thought my opening was clear enough, and felt it served for fair warning. His reply was almost instantaneous. There was something so curt and snarky about the way he demanded my identity that my decision to go easy on him was immediately forgotten. This guy, let's call him Playa for simplicity's sake, didn't seem to recognize the bible quote and plowed right on. People are so visual today - I don't think this guy would recognize his own mother's name unless it had her picture above it.

A quick Google image search later, and I was able to sate Playa's curiosity.

His response was not what I expected. I think he may have been dropped on his head as a small boy. Repeatedly. At least I like to think he has an excuse, but I doubt he does.

I will now excuse myself and let the texting play out without commentary. I do challenge you to find the obvious Simpsons reference, as well as other trivia that my idle mind may have reached for during the conversation.

Believe it or not, there was a lot more of this stuff. But I am so done with putting these together.