"Hey, I need a big favor," he says.
My Former Landlord usually needs a favor. The fact that he's calling it "big" means it's illegal or medical in nature.
"I thought I had more money on my card, but I didn't have enough. Usually they'll let you leave your ID. But I have to get (daughter) to school and we're late," he spits nonsensically.
"I don't understand," I say.
"Can you go to the Holiday in West Duluth and pay for my gas?" he asks. "It's like 14 dollars."
No. I can't. Well, I can. But I don't want to. That's halfway across town. It's a nuisance errand. And why can't he just get his shit figured out? No. I can't. I can, but I won't.
"Can't I just call?" I ask. "Pay with a card?"
"Yeah. Call," he says and hangs up.
I'm looking up the phone number when he texts: "27th St. Holiday."
"THAT'S NOT WEST DULUTH," I respond. "THAT'S WEST END."
There is a difference.
I make the call. Yes, they know what I'm talking about, but no. I have to pay in person.
I fume. I send more texts with a running theme: FIGURE YOUR SHIT OUT. I'm not going. I fume more.
I go. I pay for his gas. They give me his ID, which had been collateral.
I tell him he doesn't have to pay me back. I've purchased rights to this story. And I get to tell it whenever I want.
So that's what happened.