Wannabe Grifters

Three of the people I've been in love with since 1989 turned out to be creepy low-level grifters.

One was Rick Broussard, the lead singer for "Two Hoots and a Holler," the rockabilly band that I'd see every Monday at the Black Cat Lounge and at Hole in the Wall in Austin from the late '80s through the early '90s. At one point in '89 or so, Rick said he'd meet me at Hole in the Wall. At the door, he first said he needed some money from me to pay for his friends' cover charge. When I pointed out that his band was a regular there --- why would his friends need ME to pay their cover charge? -- he backed off, then later on in the evening, asked me flat out to give him $10. (No. Bye.)

In the late '90s, after I'd been broken up with my first girlfriend since '89, I was back in Austin after a couple of years in San Francisco for grad school. I ran into the ex at a gay club one night and she was acting unusually friendly, asking for my new number, etc. A couple of nights later, she called. Turned out, she wanted me to pay off her credit card! "THAT's why you called?" I said "hell no" and then went outside and sat on the bumper of my car and cried and cried and cried.

Just a couple of months ago, someone I loved said "I love you." I believed her. The very next night, she called and asked me for money. I said no. She stopped speaking to me. And I didn't cry one bit.

There are gray areas in any relationship, but one thing that makes my blood run utterly reptilian cold: Asking me for money. (Oh, yeah, and not driving me to work when you said you would.)