My ex-partner died by suicide two weeks ago. We were together for 5 years and married for about a year and a half. We separated this past december pretty mutually but he initiated the actual separation and telling me to move out.
He pressured me into filing for the divorce a month after I moved out, something that I really wanted to avoid but because I was the one who could afford it, it became my responsibility. The divorce was never finalied as we were still in the 90 day waiting period until the papers could even be signed. We didnt plan on getting back together but had always talked about how if we decided to separate we still wanted to take care of eachother and stay married for the legal benefits. It was really confusing to watch him switch so fast and demand a divorce and get angry with me.
We were obviously having issues within our relationship, he became angry for the first time and we ended up going no contact from februrary 17th until april 29th when he took his life (he texted me beforehand, his mom asked me to call the cops while she was on the phone with him). We had been separated for 5 months, no contact for about 2 months. I figured maybe after everything settled we could start talking again and work things out and be friends.
I was able to help with his funeral and am keeping in contact with his parents and friends, but I keep running into the issue of how to respectfully refer to myself.
My mom was widowed twice so thats a pretty normal thing to me, but his mom and dad get very defensive when i refer to myself as a widow. I know thats now legally my status and Im still legally his next of kin, but his dad is fully convinced Im just a divorcee and they keep calling me his ex-wife. Im okay with being his ex because yeah I was, but I legally was not his ex-wife yet because the divorce was still in the waiting period.
Im fuckin grieving and hurting. I was already going through the process of grieving the last 5 years of my life, the planned future, our relationship, etc. because of the separation. But this is completely different. I was trying to just push everything down and process and move on but now everything is blown open again. Hes the only thing i can think about and everything reminds me of him.
How tf am I supposed to refer to myself?
Edit: Im also concerned that his dad is going to put âdivorcedâ on everything and make it a legal issue for me because he wont accept the fact we were still married. He handled the coroner and is going to take over the car loan. I still need to meet with him to wrap up accounts and financial things (we were fully separate finacially) but he can get really nasty. I dont mind him handling things I just dont want it coming back on me legally in the future because he did things to purposefully disregard me.
You make pretty regrettable mistakes when you're desperate. Unfortunately, desperation would go on to cost me much more than I ever thought possible.
When I was 19 years old my financial situation wasn't great. In what was left of a crumbling home would be my recovering addict twin sister, and myself. The unfortunate state of our home was all from the even more unfortunate passing of our parents just four years prior. The two hadn't died tragically by any means, thankfully. No.. our parents died of old age, a consequence of having us kids later in life, while not being able to take on the financial burden that would be.. us.
My sister was making the early steps into the college lifestyle, doing her best to stay afloat with my support in funding. Money was tight for the two of us, but as she became more well off on her own, the more content she was with severing the last remaining tie to her childhood.. me.
I didn't hate Xel for her decision, if anything I understood her distancing from this life.. even if it saddened me. So then it was just me! Left to a house with a hole in the ceiling. Believe it or not, life wasn't all to bad even with how considerably down in the dumps it otherwise seemed to be.
However, content as I might have been, it's human nature to want more than you have. Can't say I was to greedy to look for some comfortability in my own home..
And so there it was! The glistening letters of ink outlining my salvation. An advertisement I'd found plastered onto the wall of the small booth I sat at while I waited for the bus to carry me off to work. "$5,000 to those compatible for a recent scientific breakthrough." Under any 'normal' circumstances I would consider this a scam. Hell, I was skeptical as I scanned the letters. Had I been told of this opportunity through spam call or text I would've glossed right over it just as anyone else would have.. but I was desperate.
I think it was the fact that someone, some real person had to have put this paper up on this wall gave me some glimmer of hope for a quick cash grab. Listed bellow the promise of money was details for a number to call regarding interest in the proposition.
I took the bait.. I saw the line, and like some idiot I clamped my teeth down just for that hook to sweep me away.
The corporation I'd come to know as, "The Arsaction," would see me just a week later. There was a brief consultation. They took my weight, age, all things I would've expected. It wasn't until they pulled records regarding my familial situation that I began to find this whole ordeal.. suspicious.
To 'begin' to find things suspicious only at this point is foolish, something I full understand, but I feel the need to reinforce the fact that I, Lex McKarthy, was desperate.
Everything by this point seemed pretty legit. The blood tests, the doctors office, the tests were.. reasonable. What was I to suspect? Everything was so vague, and truth be told I honestly didn't even expect anything to come of this visit. All the doctors, all the consultants seemed so disinterested in my features.. but when they realized I had no one, everything seemed to change.
Suddenly ears perked, suddenly doors closed, suddenly I was.. exactly what they were looking for. Every feature of myself was so painfully average. I was anyman, I was.. nothing. Despite their best efforts to be discreate, I knew it was only the fact that nobody would come looking for me that peaked their interests.
My stomach dropped when I was faced with a pen in my hand, trembling over that NDA. Every fiber of me cursed myself for never considering putting just a minute of research into 'The Arsaction,' however a video briefing would ease my nerves. Nobody knew who The Arsaction was. There was no public record of their existence, and that NDA would make sure that they continued to never exist.
I was stupid, I was irrational, I was in over my head! But I was desperate.. and I had nothing else.
"I have nothing else.. I have nothing else!"
It was a mantra I chanted as I was injected with that substance. The substance that turned my blood orange, made my skin freakishly thin.
And then I went home.
That was it. I was given my sum of money, and I was sent home. They told me I was, "good to go," and no number of questions would get a one of them to speak. I was only met with who I'd assume to be security guiding me out of the building.
Not a word more of what I'd just been injected with, only given instructions to not dwell on mirrors for too long. That was it, just some ominous instructions. So I left, as befuddled as I arrived. Relief washed over me as I made my way home. The anxiety I'd received from such an ominous buildup was all waved by the fact that I was somehow just.. good to go?
Relief quickly turned to panic as the inherent nature of it all being too good to be true set in. I expected to die, I expected some visit from government agents, I expected anything and everything, but as months turned to years.. Nothing ever came of it. No mirror ever caused me any harm, which was its own anxiety I'd have to overcome simply because of the absurd nature or such a request.
I hoped it was.. some prank. Everything was well... for a time. Of course to disturb my peace, my sister called.
I just.. watched the phone ring. My sister, someone who I hadn't spoken to in upwards of 8 years was suddenly ringing me up. When I finally had answered, her question left me speechless.
"Hey Lex. would you happen to remember Mom's recipe for that egg toast? I think I left the cookbook at your place."
I felt my ears ring. The question was so.. casual. She entirely skipped the part where we discussed how she's been, how I'm doing. She spoke to me like we'd hung out only days ago.
At the time I'd thought I was just being dramatic, but looking back on it I can only justify my own hesitation to respond.
"W-..what?"
I stammered like a fool, but I was firm in my disbelief.
"Yeah, it should be in the book on the counter?"
I looked over my shoulder to my kitchen counter, past the toaster I never bought, and over to the book she spoke of. My jaw hung heavy, the whole interaction feeling like a dream.
With one hand I held the phone, and with the other I began to skim the pages of the book letting my eyes linger on mom's cinnamon roll recipe for a bit longer than intended.
"Lex.. are you ok?"
My sister inquired on the other end. I suddenly felt sick.. falling the the ground and laying on my back. This wasn't happening.
"Lex? Are you alright!?"
My sister repeated back more urgently, followed by her assurance that she would be over soon to check on me. But.. no company ever arrived. After hours the line just dropped, and I fell asleep there on that cold, wooden floor, paralyzed with a feeling I couldn't wrap my head around.
When I finally gathered the composure to stand I would try to call Xel back. A frown dawned my face when she never answered. Somehow this didnât surprise me, and I was lead to believe that she had never called me in the first place. The thing is, the book was still on my counter, and her call was still logged on my phone.
Still, I hadnât known Xel to do something like this. It wasnât in her nature to do something so cruel, to act like all this time hadnât passed.
But it has. Years have gone by and nothing but radio silence from her, a silence I feared would go on. The following days I would continue to attempt to call her, but to no avail.
I had to come to terms with the fact that, as quickly as she had returned too my life, Xel was once again gone. Iâm ashamed to admit that, just as Iâd forgotten that experience with The Arsaction several years ago, Iâd forgotten about my own sister.
Even if she wouldnât call back, I was inspired to begin looking through old family pictures, and this is where the oddities would start to fester.
I found a picture of Xel and I just.. eating breakfast. Usually my mom was off to work by then, but it was a special occasion. It was a day I remember so vividly. I was 14 years old at this time, and had awoke to the sweet smell of cinnamon rolls filling the air. After all, it was Xelâs and Iâs birthday. All was right with the world, all as I climbed from the messy sheets in my dark room. It was abundantly clear that the bulb of the light beside my bed had burnt out over the course of the night, and the closed blinds didn't aid my vision as I stumbled around my room in search of my door.
An oddity presented itself in the fashion of aimless wondering. Where was the nob? One I'd become so accustomed to.. not needing to open? I'd never closed my door. Not the previous night, not ever. Not to the behest of my mother who'd always taken annoyance to closed doors, some trait of my grandmother's to which my mom had unfortunately inherited.
Breakfast took the form of two strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, and slightly burnt French-Toast. My previous assumption of cinnamon rolls unfortunately missed the mark, however I wouldn't object to this. I wish I could convince myself that I was wrong. Something so mundane, something so insignificant to the events in this story, however the first notable instance of a curse that I couldn't pinpoint
My mother had already seen herself off to work by this point, and so I was faced with the responsibilities of seeing myself out to the bus. Some routine I'd become far too used to; The minutes passed, leaving me with nothing to do but wait by the door for a buss that would never arrive.
If the door being shut and the cinnamon rolls being a different meal entirely had left me with a minor confusion, then suddenly being seated in the passenger seat of my mother's car listening to the nonchalant complaints from my twin sister about the nuances freshmen year math shot me into a disarray I couldn't possibly quantify.
I think one of the scariest things for me is the fact that I thought nothing of it. I hadn't freaked out. No scene was made to express what should have been one of the more disturbing instances of my childhood.
I could chalk up the mistaking breakfast for something else as me just misremembering events.. But something unmistakable is the fact that somehow my mom both never drove me to school, yet the fact that she.. always had.
If you're confused, I understand. I am too, because the contradicting nature of my memory is something that haunts me to no end.
Things were easier as a child. That's often the case, but ever sense I stopped aging, I've begun to notice the oddities presented by life that are.. inexplainable. I'm not even sure where to start with researching my predicament.
The Mandela Effect is something that I feel needs no introduction. To those who don't know, the Mandela Effect, in brief, is a phenomenon that incurs when you "misremember" something. Think of a card, now imagine you saw that card as a child and it had a single heart drawn on it's center. Now, years later you are discussing this card with someone else just for them to tell you that the heart you swear, the heart you KNOW you saw.. was a diamond. You tell them they are wrong, you shake your head, chuckle nervously.. But then they present you with the card.
Your stomach drops. This can't be the card, there is no way! Only it is the card, and when you come to the realization that it is in fact the card you'd seen as a child, you are filled with a mix of confusion, fascination, and quite possibly denial.
Most often, the Mandela Effect is associated with silly things like books titles, and board game mascots, but my experience is far beyond such things. It's the only phenomenon I've found that seems even within the realm of explaining my predicament. Problem is, the more I think, the more is wrong.
All of me wishes it all ended with that one childhood experience! But it didn't. In fact, the more I consider my childhood, the more contradictions I notice. Part of me believes I could handle this if it was limited to my childhood, but it's not. This.. experience... It effects my every day!
I'm not losing my mind, I'm just picking up crumbs that I never dropped. Not.. losing my mind, just finding more "mind" than the inventory should account for.
As I stop and think now, Iâm understanding that my memories are.. overlapping. Other mirrored versions of myself and my memories will occasionally cross paths, and when they do it causes me to misremember. Not because I donât remember, but because my memories conflict with one another.
I wish I could see someone about this, but Iâm worried the consequences of me seeking someone out.. still, we make dumb mistakes when we are desperate, and Iâm starting to feel desperate again.
You make pretty regrettable mistakes when you're desperate. Unfortunately, desperation would go on to cost me much more than I ever thought possible.
When I was 19 years old my financial situation wasn't great. In what was left of a crumbling home would be my recovering addict twin sister, and myself. The unfortunate state of our home was all from the even more unfortunate passing of our parents just four years prior. The two hadn't died tragically by any means, thankfully. No.. our parents died of old age, a consequence of having us kids later in life, while not being able to take on the financial burden that would be.. us.
My sister was making the early steps into the college lifestyle, doing her best to stay afloat with my support in funding. Money was tight for the two of us, but as she became more well off on her own, the more content she was with severing the last remaining tie to her childhood.. me.
I didn't hate Xel for her decision, if anything I understood her distancing from this life.. even if it saddened me. So then it was just me! Left to a house with a hole in the ceiling. Believe it or not, life wasn't all to bad even with how considerably down in the dumps it otherwise seemed to be.
However, content as I might have been, it's human nature to want more than you have. Can't say I was to greedy to look for some comfortability in my own home..
And so there it was! The glistening letters of ink outlining my salvation. An advertisement I'd found plastered onto the wall of the small booth I sat at while I waited for the bus to carry me off to work. "$5,000 to those compatible for a recent scientific breakthrough." Under any 'normal' circumstances I would consider this a scam. Hell, I was skeptical as I scanned the letters. Had I been told of this opportunity through spam call or text I would've glossed right over it just as anyone else would have.. but I was desperate.
I think it was the fact that someone, some real person had to have put this paper up on this wall gave me some glimmer of hope for a quick cash grab. Listed bellow the promise of money was details for a number to call regarding interest in the proposition.
I took the bait.. I saw the line, and like some idiot I clamped my teeth down just for that hook to sweep me away.
The corporation I'd come to know as, "The Arsaction," would see me just a week later. There was a brief consultation. They took my weight, age, all things I would've expected. It wasn't until they pulled records regarding my familial situation that I began to find this whole ordeal.. suspicious.
To 'begin' to find things suspicious only at this point is foolish, something I full understand, but I feel the need to reinforce the fact that I, Lex McKarthy, was desperate.
Everything by this point seemed pretty legit. The blood tests, the doctors office, the tests were.. reasonable. What was I to suspect? Everything was so vague, and truth be told I honestly didn't even expect anything to come of this visit. All the doctors, all the consultants seemed so disinterested in my features.. but when they realized I had no one, everything seemed to change.
Suddenly ears perked, suddenly doors closed, suddenly I was.. exactly what they were looking for. Every feature of myself was so painfully average. I was anyman, I was.. nothing. Despite their best efforts to be discreate, I knew it was only the fact that nobody would come looking for me that peaked their interests.
My stomach dropped when I was faced with a pen in my hand, trembling over that NDA. Every fiber of me cursed myself for never considering putting just a minute of research into 'The Arsaction,' however a video briefing would ease my nerves. Nobody knew who The Arsaction was. There was no public record of their existence, and that NDA would make sure that they continued to never exist.
I was stupid, I was irrational, I was in over my head! But I was desperate.. and I had nothing else.
"I have nothing else.. I have nothing else!"
It was a mantra I chanted as I was injected with that substance. The substance that turned my blood orange, made my skin freakishly thin.
And then I went home.
That was it. I was given my sum of money, and I was sent home. They told me I was, "good to go," and no number of questions would get a one of them to speak. I was only met with who I'd assume to be security guiding me out of the building.
Not a word more of what I'd just been injected with, only given instructions to not dwell on mirrors for too long. That was it, just some ominous instructions. So I left, as befuddled as I arrived. Relief washed over me as I made my way home. The anxiety I'd received from such an ominous buildup was all waved by the fact that I was somehow just.. good to go?
Relief quickly turned to panic as the inherent nature of it all being too good to be true set in. I expected to die, I expected some visit from government agents, I expected anything and everything, but as months turned to years.. Nothing ever came of it. No mirror ever caused me any harm, which was its own anxiety I'd have to overcome simply because of the absurd nature or such a request.
I hoped it was.. some prank. Everything was well... for a time. Of course to disturb my peace, my sister called.
I just.. watched the phone ring. My sister, someone who I hadn't spoken to in upwards of 8 years was suddenly ringing me up. When I finally had answered, her question left me speechless.
"Hey Lex. would you happen to remember Mom's recipe for that egg toast? I think I left the cookbook at your place."
I felt my ears ring. The question was so.. casual. She entirely skipped the part where we discussed how she's been, how I'm doing. She spoke to me like we'd hung out only days ago.
At the time I'd thought I was just being dramatic, but looking back on it I can only justify my own hesitation to respond.
"W-..what?"
I stammered like a fool, but I was firm in my disbelief.
"Yeah, it should be in the book on the counter?"
I looked over my shoulder to my kitchen counter, past the toaster I never bought, and over to the book she spoke of. My jaw hung heavy, the whole interaction feeling like a dream.
With one hand I held the phone, and with the other I began to skim the pages of the book letting my eyes linger on mom's cinnamon roll recipe for a bit longer than intended.
"Lex.. are you ok?"
My sister inquired on the other end. I suddenly felt sick.. falling the the ground and laying on my back. This wasn't happening.
"Lex? Are you alright!?"
My sister repeated back more urgently, followed by her assurance that she would be over soon to check on me. But.. no company ever arrived. After hours the line just dropped, and I fell asleep there on that cold, wooden floor, paralyzed with a feeling I couldn't wrap my head around.
When I finally gathered the composure to stand I would try to call Xel back. A frown dawned my face when she never answered. Somehow this didnât surprise me, and I was lead to believe that she had never called me in the first place. The thing is, the book was still on my counter, and her call was still logged on my phone.
Still, I hadnât known Xel to do something like this. It wasnât in her nature to do something so cruel, to act like all this time hadnât passed.
But it has. Years have gone by and nothing but radio silence from her, a silence I feared would go on. The following days I would continue to attempt to call her, but to no avail.
I had to come to terms with the fact that, as quickly as she had returned too my life, Xel was once again gone. Iâm ashamed to admit that, just as Iâd forgotten that experience with The Arsaction several years ago, Iâd forgotten about my own sister.
Even if she wouldnât call back, I was inspired to begin looking through old family pictures, and this is where the oddities would start to fester.
I found a picture of Xel and I just.. eating breakfast. Usually my mom was off to work by then, but it was a special occasion. It was a day I remember so vividly. I was 14 years old at this time, and had awoke to the sweet smell of cinnamon rolls filling the air. After all, it was Xelâs and Iâs birthday. All was right with the world, all as I climbed from the messy sheets in my dark room. It was abundantly clear that the bulb of the light beside my bed had burnt out over the course of the night, and the closed blinds didn't aid my vision as I stumbled around my room in search of my door.
An oddity presented itself in the fashion of aimless wondering. Where was the nob? One I'd become so accustomed to.. not needing to open? I'd never closed my door. Not the previous night, not ever. Not to the behest of my mother who'd always taken annoyance to closed doors, some trait of my grandmother's to which my mom had unfortunately inherited.
Breakfast took the form of two strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, and slightly burnt French-Toast. My previous assumption of cinnamon rolls unfortunately missed the mark, however I wouldn't object to this. I wish I could convince myself that I was wrong. Something so mundane, something so insignificant to the events in this story, however the first notable instance of a curse that I couldn't pinpoint
My mother had already seen herself off to work by this point, and so I was faced with the responsibilities of seeing myself out to the bus. Some routine I'd become far too used to; The minutes passed, leaving me with nothing to do but wait by the door for a buss that would never arrive.
If the door being shut and the cinnamon rolls being a different meal entirely had left me with a minor confusion, then suddenly being seated in the passenger seat of my mother's car listening to the nonchalant complaints from my twin sister about the nuances freshmen year math shot me into a disarray I couldn't possibly quantify.
I think one of the scariest things for me is the fact that I thought nothing of it. I hadn't freaked out. No scene was made to express what should have been one of the more disturbing instances of my childhood.
I could chalk up the mistaking breakfast for something else as me just misremembering events.. But something unmistakable is the fact that somehow my mom both never drove me to school, yet the fact that she.. always had.
If you're confused, I understand. I am too, because the contradicting nature of my memory is something that haunts me to no end.
Things were easier as a child. That's often the case, but ever sense I stopped aging, I've begun to notice the oddities presented by life that are.. inexplainable. I'm not even sure where to start with researching my predicament.
The Mandela Effect is something that I feel needs no introduction. To those who don't know, the Mandela Effect, in brief, is a phenomenon that incurs when you "misremember" something. Think of a card, now imagine you saw that card as a child and it had a single heart drawn on it's center. Now, years later you are discussing this card with someone else just for them to tell you that the heart you swear, the heart you KNOW you saw.. was a diamond. You tell them they are wrong, you shake your head, chuckle nervously.. But then they present you with the card.
Your stomach drops. This can't be the card, there is no way! Only it is the card, and when you come to the realization that it is in fact the card you'd seen as a child, you are filled with a mix of confusion, fascination, and quite possibly denial.
Most often, the Mandela Effect is associated with silly things like books titles, and board game mascots, but my experience is far beyond such things. It's the only phenomenon I've found that seems even within the realm of explaining my predicament. Problem is, the more I think, the more is wrong.
All of me wishes it all ended with that one childhood experience! But it didn't. In fact, the more I consider my childhood, the more contradictions I notice. Part of me believes I could handle this if it was limited to my childhood, but it's not. This.. experience... It effects my every day!
I'm not losing my mind, I'm just picking up crumbs that I never dropped. Not.. losing my mind, just finding more "mind" than the inventory should account for.
As I stop and think now, Iâm understanding that my memories are.. overlapping. Other mirrored versions of myself and my memories will occasionally cross paths, and when they do it causes me to misremember. Not because I donât remember, but because my memories conflict with one another.
I wish I could see someone about this, but Iâm worried the consequences of me seeking someone out.. still, we make dumb mistakes when we are desperate, and Iâm starting to feel desperate again.
To make a long story short, three weeks ago my husband was in a car accident that left him with a fractured spine and an ankle injury that required surgery. He is non-weight bearing and cannot do much for himself. I asked my leave specialist if I could take fmla since I am his primary caregiver and I was told no since I have not been with the district for a year. Iâm going to school everyday to teach and then coming home to resume caregiver duties. Iâm exhausted and struggling mentally. Has anyone ever gone through the process of getting mental health days? If so, were you paid? Iâm trying to weigh my options as the school year wraps up.
I accidentally posted this to my username instead of my subreddit so here is is:
The Mortgage, Part 3
âFuck,â I said as I drove to work in the old beater that only started on the fourth try because it could tell that I was pissed off. Rayâs case started at two oâclock, and I was heading to the office to get ready. âFuck fuck fuckity fucking fuck. Fuck.â Iâd wanted to tell Angela about Rayâs case, and how I was sorry that I hadnât wanted to help him, but now I would, I would help him, and I would win, but then Iâd gotten her all riled up on something else, something totally different, something way more serious.
My wife had given me a triple ultimatum: fix things up with her father, save idiot Ray from Sy-Co Corp., and somehow find a downpayment for the place she wanted to buy, in the little townhouse infill project in Bixity. It was like demanding I do a double bank shot, and then run over to the baseball diamond and hit a home run after first pointing to where it would land, Babe Ruth style.
Angela was mad at me, seriously mad. Sheâd slipped out that morning before I was even awake, sliding quietly past me on the couch. I didnât realize she was gone until I heard the faint click of the front door closing. I jumped up, tripped over a blanket, and by the time I got up and my robe on, the elevator down the hall dinged, and Angela was gone before I opened the apartment door.
I swore at myself some more and pounded the steering wheel, âI fucked up,â I said, several times as I hit the wheel over and over again, until I accidentally honked it, and then looked all sheepish when the guy in front of me gave me the finger. I reached my office without further incident, but instead of walking in the front door, I went further down the hall, and into the office of Mark Cecil-Rowe, Barrister, LL.D, the man with the finest speaking voice I ever heard. When I entered his office I forgot for a minute about Angela and her father and sleeping on the couch the night before. I forget about everything, except the reason that I had come to Cecil-Roweâs office: to stump him with a legal problem that I had solved, but which I was pretty sure he could not. In other words, I had come to preen and to brag and to boast. No one likes a showoff, and I had come to show off. I put my hand on the door and turned the knob. After a brief pause, I flung open the door.
âIâm a goddamn genius,â I said as I strolled into the older manâs office.
I noticed the echo of a hastily closed desk drawer hanging in the air. In Aaronâs office, where I rented space, a sudden act of concealment implied cocaine, but with Cecil-Rowe, the item in question was probably a mickey of vodka. I had the sense that heâd been drinking a bit before I arrived, but his powers of observation were unimpaired, and when he looked into my face, his expression showed sympathy, and actual pain.
âWhat have you done now?â he said, as set the papers before him to one side, and readied himself to hear my latest tale of legal brilliance.
âIâm a genius,â I said.
âOh dear. Have a seat.â
âNo really, I am. Iâm a genius. I got this case that everyone says you canât win, but Iâm gonna win it, and when I do, Iâm gonna look like a genius.â Cecil-Rowe gave me a sad indulgent smile.
âWhenever you tell me youâre a genius, I am always concerned about what is to follow. When you get wrapped up in what you call your genius, you tend to ignore the more mundane things we lawyers have to do to win a case. You think youâre going to win by genius alone.â
âLet me tell you why Iâm a goddamn genius.â With effort I wiped the smug, self-satisfied expression that was on my face.
âTell me why youâre a genius,â Cecil-Rowe said, âwhile I pour us a coffee.â He heaved his bulky body up from his chair and shuffled over to a counter. He picked up a carafe of hot coffee sitting on a hot plate, and poured two cups. âSpeak,â he said, handing me one. I took a sip of the coffee, and told Cecil-Rowe the tale of Cousin Ray: his purchase of a franchise from Sy-Co Corp, its swift demise, the crash and burn in Commercial Court, the Minutes of Settlement, the seventy-one kilometer limit, and lastly, Sy-Coâs motion scheduled for two p.m. that very day, seeking an interim injunction shutting down Rayâs place.
Cecil-Rowe absorbed all this without the need to take notes. Instead, he sat back while he eyed me, taking the occasional sip of coffee, and smiling at the extravagant flourishes and details that brought out Rayâs story to full effect.
âObviously Ray is dead on arrival,â he said, âbut I guess this is the part where you tell me how youâre going to win.â
So I told him how I was going to win, but it didnât have the desired effect. âI told ya Iâm a genius, Mr. C,â cueing him to applaud, to admit what a brilliant lawyer I was. But there was no applause from Mark Cecil-Rowe. He looked at me without so much as a smile.
âYou can cling to that genius notion as a consolation prize, after you get whipped this afternoon in court.â
âNo
way,â I said, ânot a chance. I got this thing won hands down. Iâm gonna kick ass in court today and--â
âAnd how exactly do you plan to do that, if you donât have evidence?â
âWhat?â
âEvidence, Calledinthe9os. Itâs what lawyers like me use to beat geniuses like you.â
âBut Iâm gonna win without proof. I donât need proof. The argument Iâm gonna make, relies on simple facts that are totally obvious, so the judge is gonna--â Cecil-Rowe stuck up his hand.
âStop right there. I know whatâs coming. Youâre going to ask the judge to take *judicial notice.â
And he was right. That was exactly what I was going to do.
There are some things so obvious that you didnât have to prove them, things that everyone knew. You didnât have to prove that water froze at zero degrees and boiled at a hundred, or that Bixity was between West Bay and East Bay.
âYou got it,â I said, âjudicial notice all the way.â
âYouâre going to tell the judge that the centerpiece of your argument, the lynchpin of your case is a fact known to pretty well everyone, and so you donât need proof.â
â
Exactly,â I said. Cecil-Rowe took another sip of his coffee, and left me hanging in the silence for a while before he spoke.
âIf thatâs true, then why does coming up with that argument make you a genius?â
âOh, I said,âI didnât think of that.â
âIt is acceptable to rely on judicial notice for minor, ancillary points. But you never should walk into court thinking that the court will take judicial notice of your entire defence. Itâs just too risky.â
âBut how am I going to rustle up a witness in time for this afternoon?â
âWorry about that after you leave my office. I canât help you with that. What I want to know, is why youâre doing this at the last minute.â
âWhat makes you think Iâm doing this at the last minute?â
âBecause you never would have resorted to judicial notice if you were properly prepared. If youâd opened this case a bit earlier, youâve have everything lined up. But you got to work on it late, and so you want to rely on judicial notice. Youâve messed up, Calledinthe90s, and you know what my rule is when you mess up.â Cecil-Rowe didnât extend aid to me, until I admitted the error of my ways. It was infuriating, but he was inflexible. So I fessed up.
âMy idiot cousin Rayâs been trying to retain me for almost two weeks, but I was putting him off because I was mad at him. So now my wifeâs mad at me, and if I donât win this case, Iâm dead. Plus her dadâs mad at me too and --â My brain roared into overdrive, a mess of family and law and fear, and at the centre of it, thoughts of Angelaâs anger and her father. My mind took off, and then came to an instant halt at a helpful destination.
âYes?â Cecil-Rowe said.
âSorry. I just realized how to solve the evidence problem. Look, can I ask you about the thing I actually came here to ask you about?â
âYou have a problem thatâs worse than having no evidence? What could be worse than -- oh. You donât have a retainer. Your client doesn't have any money.â
âExactly. How do I get paid? Thatâs the problem.â I explained that Ray had no money, as in none, and that if he did have money, he wouldnât spend it on me. Instead, heâd go back downtown and throw his cash at some big firm, who would take on his case, and proceed to lose it in a calm, careful, sober manner, ending in a reporting letter to Ray telling him that heâd lost.
âNow thatâs a problem I can solve,â Cecil-Rowe said.
âReally? âCause I canât see a way around it. I think Iâm gonna have to do this for free, and that really pisses me off.â Cecil-Rowe shook his head.
âYou may or may not get paid, but you can set things up so that if you win, youâll win pretty good.â
âHow? Rayâs a deadbeat. Tapped out.â
âBut is he desperate?â
âTotally. The first time he failed, he lost his own money, but if he goes under this time, heâs taking family money with him, and heâll be the black sheep forever.â
âAnd heâs using family to emotionally blackmail you into helping him?â
âLike
no shit. Thatâs the part that pisses me off the most. Iâm like a goddamn slave, being forced to work for free.â
âNever fear, young apprentice. I have just the thing in mind.â He reached into a drawer, and pulled out a form. âFill in the blanks, and have him sign.â
I looked it over, and saw that the document was a retainer agreement. I whistled. âHoly shit. If he signs this, heâs almost my slave.â
âClose, but not quiteâ Cecil-Rowe said, âthe Latin term for this is "contractus pro venditione animae"â. Itâs the ultimate retainer agreement. Once Ray signs that, you own any cause of action he has against the person suing him. You can settle the case on any terms you like, and you get to keep whatever proceeds there are.â Cecil-Rowe placed the folder back in a drawer, and from his manner you could tell that the interview was over.
âAwesome, Mr. C. Iâll call you from Commercial Court when weâre done.â
â
Commercial Court?â he said.
âYeah, Commercial Court.â
âThis just keeps getting worse. Take notes, Calledinthe90s, while I school you on Commercial Court. Commercial Court is a jungle, and without preparation, youâll get savaged.â
âThatâs what happened to Ray when--â
âTake notes, young apprentice,â he said, tossing me a pad and a pen. He started to lecture, and I took notes that I have with me to this day, in a safe deposit box downstairs in the vault at Mega Bank Main Branch.
* * *
By the time Cecil-Rowe finished schooling me, it was close to ten, and the case started at two. I didnât have much time. I ran down the hall to my office, and called Rayâs restaurant. No answer. Then I called Rayâs house. I expected to get Rayâs wife, but the man himself answered.
âYouâre not at work. Why arenât you at work?â
âSy-Co Corp served all my employees with a cease and desist letter. They all got scared and took off. The place is shut down.â
âYou gotta fax machine at home?â He did, and asked why.
âIâm taking your case, but only if you sign the paper Iâm about to send and fax it back.â I sent the fax, and five minutes later it came back signed, and it was official: Ray had sold me his legal soul.
I went out to the parking lot, got into my beater and drove fast. In less than thirty minutes I reached my destination. I knocked on the door, and when it opened, my diminutive mother-in-law poked out her head. âWhat a pleasant surprise,â she said.
âSorry, Mrs. M, but Iâm in a super hurry. I gotta rush to get to court to help Ray. But first, I gotta speak to Dr. M.â
âHeâs not here,â she said.
âNot here?â
âHeâs on his way to his bridge game. He left just a few minutes ago.â
âWhereâs the club?â
âHeâs walking there,â she said, and pointed down the street.
âThanks.â I got into my car and headed where Mrs. M had pointed, passing big houses and new project with an âOpening Soonâ sign. And walking past it was the figure of Dr. M.
âHey, Dr. M,â I called out the window. He stopped and looked around, startled. But he didnât see me, not at first.
âItâs me, Dr. M. Me, Calledin90s.â He leaned forward as if to see me better. I got out of the car.
âIs something wrong with Angela? Or the baby?â
âNo, no not at all, sorry to scare you, itâs nothing like that. I need your help.â
âOh.â He started walking again, and now it was my turn to be a bit stunned, watching my father-in-law walk away from me. I caught up with him in a few quick strides.
âListen, I really need your help.â
âAnd I really need to get to a bridge game.â
âThis isnât about me. Itâs about Ray.â That brought him to a halt. He turned to me, angrier even than heâd been the night before.
âDid you drive all the way out here just to make fun of me? To remind me of how you won, distracting me with nonsense about Rayâs case?â
âI mean it,â I said, âI can win Rayâs case. I can prove it in a few words.â
âProve it, then.â So I did. I spoke words, only a few words, but they were the right words to speak to Dr. M, for the words I spoke were in his language, words that he understood perfectly.
âI understand,â he said, âyouâve come to boast some more, to prove that you were right after all.â
âI want to win Rayâs case, but I donât have any proof of what Iâm saying.â
âYou donât need to prove that two plus two is four.â
âThis, I gotta prove, and I need you to help me prove it. I need you to come to court with me, as my witness.â
âI canât do that. I didnât witness anything.â
âAs my witness. My
expert witness.â Unlike a normal witness, an expert witness can give an opinion. An expert is there not to advocate, I explained to Dr. M but to instruct, to teach.
âMy bridge partner wonât be very happy,â he said.
âBut Ray will, and so will Mrs. M and Angela and--â
âVery well. Do you have a cell phone? We can call the bridge club from my car.â
* * *
We were on the highway getting close to the downtown exit, when my wife called my cell phone. Back then cell phone service was super expensive and my wife only used it for emergencies. Or when she was really angry. I picked up the phone, wondering which it would be.
âIâm so happy that you made things up with my father,â she said.
âHow did you know?â
âMy mother called. She says you took him with you, that you went out together.â
âHeâs with me right now,â I said.
âWhere are you going?â
âTo court. Going to court to win Rayâs case for him.â
âAnd you brought my father with you to watch?â She was so happy, I could hear in her voice that she was smiling. âThatâs a great way to bond with him, Calledinthe90s. Look, Iâm sorry I got so mad at you earlier, I really am. My dadâs a bit too sensitive and--â
âSorry, Angela, your dadâs not coming to watch me.â
âWhy is he with you, then?â
âHeâs my witness,â I said.
âWhat?â
âHis
expert witness,â Dr. M said, loudly enough for Angela to hear.
My wifeâs anger exploded into the phone. She wanted to know how I could expose her elderly, vulnerable father to the stress of a court case. I tried to tell her how I needed him, how there was literally no one else I could turn to, that her father was an expert, a true expert, and the judge was legally bound to believe him, but Angela heard none of this.
âLook,â I said, âI promise you that--â And then I lowered the phone and pushed the red button, terminating the call. Iâd learned that the best way to hang up on someone, was to do it when I was doing the talking. That way it looked like the call had dropped.
âIâm going to steal that move,â Dr. M said.
We rolled into the parking lot. I grabbed the cloth bag out of the back of my car, the bag that held my law robes and shirt and tabs, plus the other stuff I needed for court. It was one-thirty, still thirty minutes to go, not a lot of time to get robed and ready for court. It was just past one-forty five when I, with Dr. M in tow, opened the door to a courtroom on the eighth floor of an old insurance building that had been converted into a courthouse, the home of Commercial Court.
âCommercial Court is an exclusive club,â Cecil-Rowe had explained to me earlier that day, âthe legal playground of the rich and powerful. Theyâll know instantly that youâre not one of them.â And he was right. It was clear from the moment I walked in that I did not belong, for I was the only lawyer in robes. Everyone else was wearing a suit, and not some cheap thing off the rack like I wore.
There were a half-dozen lawyers present, and after they saw me, they exchanged knowing looks about the stranger amongst them. I ignored them, and walked up to the Registrar. I told him the case I was on, and he signed me in.
âFirst time in Commercial Court?â he said, eyeing my robes. âYou know you donât have to be robed in Commercial Court.â In other Superior Courts, you always had to bring your robes and get all dressed up. But Commercial Court had its own set of rules, and in the court for rich people, their lawyers did not have to wear robes.
âYouâre here on the Sy-Co case?â a young woman asked. She was a junior like me, give a year or two either way. She was dressed in the finest downtown counsel fashion, some designer thing that Angela would know if she saw it.
âJust got retained,â I said.
âYou know thereâs no adjournments, right? We donât do adjournments in Commercial Court. Iâm just trying to be helpful, because I donât think you've been here before. You know you donât have to be robed, right?
âSo I heard.â
âSo whereâs your material? You havenât served anything, so how do you plan to argue your case?â
âI gotta witness,â I said.
She smiled. âThereâs no
viva voce evidence, either. Affidavit only.â
âWeâll see what the judge says.â There was a knock from the other side of the door to the judgeâs chambers, and then the man himself entered.
I was amazed to see that even the judge wasnât wearing a robe; instead, he was wearing a light coloured suit and a bright blue bow tie. He was dressed as good as the lawyers, all part of the downtown Commercial Court club, the playground of the richest and most powerful corporations in the City.
âCommercial Courtâs not like other courts,â Cecil-Rowe told me earlier that day, explaining that most cases were over in fifteen minutes or less. A plaintiff showed up with some papers, and had a short consultation with the judge. The judge signed an order granting an injunction, or taking away a manâs business, or freezing his money. Commercial Court is where you went to get quick and simple court orders that eviscerated your opponent before the case even got going.
Defendants would appear sometimes in Commercial Court, Cecil-Rowe explained, but it was usually their last time up. Defendants always died a quick death in Commercial Court.
The judge took his seat, and then looked over the lawyers before him. His eyes moved along, and then stopped when they reached me, the one lawyer who was not like the others.
âYou donât need robes in Commercial Court,â the judge said to me.
âIâll remember that for next time,â I said.
âWhat case are you on?â
I told him.
âHeâs filed no responding materials,â my opponent said, ânothing at all.â
âIâm just vetting the list,â the judge said, âIâll circle back to you two in a few minutes.â I listend while the judge vetted the rest of the afternoon list: a Mareva, plus a Norwich order, with counsel on those cases sent away in a matter of minutes.
Now the courtroom was almost empty, just the judge, two lawyers, the registrar and my star witness and father-in-law, Dr. M, who sat in the back of the courtroom dressed in an old business suit, put on hastily at his place two hours earlier, when I urged him to hurry it up, to not waste so much time on picking a suit.
âBack to you,â the judge said, addressing my opponent, âI thought this was an uncontested matter. Thatâs what your confirmation sheet said.â
âIâm sorry, Your Honour, but I didnât know until I got here that the case was defended.â
âI got retained at the last minute,â I said, âbarely three hours ago, the day after I read the papers. But Iâm ready to go, ready to argue the case on the merits, so long as you grant me an indulgence, and let me call my witness, to let him testify in person instead of by affidavit, there being no time for me to draft anything.â
Opposing counsel was on her feet. âThatâs not how things are done in Commercial Court,â she said, âor any court that I know of, for that matter. My friend (thatâs what they make lawyers call each other in court, âmy friend,â even though you might hate the other guyâs guts),â the lawyer said, âmy friend should have served his responding materials and filed them with the court. Instead, heâs taken us totally by surprise.â
âIâm sorry my friend is surprised by opposition,â I said, âbut then consider, itâs my clientâs livelihood thatâs at stake. If my friend gets her injunction, Ray Telewuâs business is dead, and he loses everything. So yes, my client opposes the injunction, and yes, Iâd like to call evidence.â
The judge didnât consult the papers before him nor the books, but instead, he looked up at the big white clock on the courtroom wall. Its hands said two-fifteen.
âHow long will your witness take, counsel?â
âIn chief, ten minutes.â Iâd practiced with Dr. M on the way in, and I was pretty sure he could do it in five, but I gave him a bit of extra time, just in case.
âWeâve got about two hours,â the judge said, âbut I want to be fair to you and your client. Letâs take a fifteen minute recess so you can get instructions. Either we go ahead today with viva voce evidence, or we adjourn, and that will give Calledinthe90s time to file responding materials.â
When everyone came back, the juniorâs boss was there, Senior Counsel, a heavy weight, one of those big guys downtown. Plus they brought this guy from Sy-Co Corp, the head of some bullshit division, with some bullshit title, Head of whatever, so thatâs the title Iâll give him here. He was The Head. He was the man, the big cheese, the signer of the affidavit on which Sy-Co relied that day.
âWhatâs he doing here?â I asked Senior Counsel.
He stared at me, all lean and steel grey, looking every inch the hard hitting lawyer that commanded the biggest fees. âIf youâre calling a live witness, then so can we. The Head will give evidence today, in advance of your client, so that the judge hears it from him first.â His junior smirked at me, and the two of them sat down, delighted that theyâd thought of a way to one up me.
Except that theyâd done it by exposing their client to cross-examination. The judge came in, allowed the Head to testify, and when he was done, I stood up.
âJust a few questions,â I said. Senior Counsel was stunned for an instant, and then he stood.
âThis serves no purpose, Your Honour. The witness has confirmed the simple facts of his affidavit, and thereâs no disputing it. Ray Telewu opened a restaurant less than seventy-one kilometres from Bixity City Hall, and thatâs in breach of the Minutes of Settlement he signed.â
I did not bother to respond. Instead, I just stood, and I started to ask questions.
âHave a look at that map in your affidavit,â I said, and he did. I picked up my copy, and tore the map out of it. I passed it up to him.
âWhat do you notice about this map?â
âThat itâs accurate,â the Head said, repeating his evidence in chief, amplifying it, talking about how the map contained perfect measurement.
âYou will notice that the map is flat,â I said, laying it on the witness box before him.
âOf course itâs flat. Thatâs what maps are. Maps are flat.â
âBut the earth is
round,â I said, âor more properly, a sphere.â Senior Counsel was on his feet in an instant.
âWhat difference does that make?â he said.
âWhat youâll hear from my expert witness, is that a flat map cannot accurately show Earthâs curves. A flat map distorts distances, and in this case, reduces them.â
âBut that canât be by very much.â
âIn this case, by just over twenty meters,â Dr. M said from the back of the court.
âThatâs my expert witness, the esteemed Dr. M.â I didnât actually say Dr. M. Instead, I said his real name. But Iâm not going to use the real names of my family here, so Iâll just keep calling him Dr. M. âDr. M was a professor of Physics at the University of Bixity for almost thirty years. He has published numerous papers on particle physics, and is the first Canadian winner of the Wolf Prize for physics.â
It went downhill after that for Sy-Co Corp. My father-in-law testified, explaining in simple language, language that even a child could understand, that the Earth was a sphere, that the shortest distance between two points on Earth was a curve, not a straight line. He summarized his calculations in plain English, dumbing down the math, so that everyone present imagined, if only for the moment, that they shared his understanding of a difficult mathematical equation.
Senior Counsel tried to cross-examine Dr. M, but it did not go well, my father-in-law indulging him, gently chiding him, continuing his explanations until the lawyer sat down, defeated by Dr. Mâs mastery of the subject,his own lack of preparation and his inability to improvise. When counsel said that he had no further questions, the judge addressed us all.
âIâm not going to reserve, and I donât think I need to tell everyone why. I think it will take about a minute for me to write a decision saying that the Earth is not flat. Iâll give you some more time after that, but after fifteen minutes, Iâll be back to render my decision.â He rose, everyone bowed, and he disappeared behind the door to judgeâs chambers.
I pulled a piece of paper out of my file, and slammed it on the desk before Senior Counsel and his junior. âFill in the blanks, and sign,â I said.
Dr. Mâs head shot up at the commotion, and he shuffled over to see what was going on.
âWhatâs this?â Senior Counsel said, picking up the paper I gave him..
âMinutes of Settlement. You fill in a number, a big number, for the costs you gotta pay me. Your client signs, and then weâre done.â Senior Counsel opened his mouth to bargain, but I overrode him.
âYou know your clientâs going to lose; the judge made that obvious. Hurry up if you want to settle; we donât have much time.â
At the end of most Canadian court cases, the loser has to pay at least part of the winnerâs legal fees. Thatâs the way itâs been since forever, and I think itâs a good rule. Sy-Co Corp had lost, so it had to pay a good chunk of Rayâs costs, and Rayâs costs were somewhere between whatever bullshit figure I claimed they were, and where they actually ought to be. Senior Counsel took the paper over to his client. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back, with the form signed, and a number written in the blank space.
Iâll give it to Sy-Co Corp and their lawyer. It wasnât a bullshit number, a low ball number. They gave me a real number, a number more like something Iâd actually accept, a number that made sense to pay me in costs, in light of the success Iâd had, and how I got it. It was a respectful number, a common sense number, and I appreciated it an awful lot.
I tossed the paper back at them.
âAdd a zero,â I said, continuing on when Senior Counsel blanched, and his junior retreated a step. âI know whatâs going on here. Your client sold mine a bullshit franchise, one with a history of failing.â The franchise had opened up again under a new owner not long after Ray had lost it and then it promptly failed again. Like I said at the start of this story, itâs an old story. Itâs how some franchise companies make money. âYour client makes more money selling bullshit franchises doomed to fail, then it does from the honest ones that make money. So add a zero to that number, or Rayâs gonna sue you, class action and all that, for all the people youâve fucked.â
The Head stepped forward from the benches and spoke to me.
âWe get threats like that all the time, but no one follows through. They donât have the money to fight us, and neither does your client. So go ahead and sue.â
âItâs true that Ray doesnât have jack shit,â I said, ânot a pot to piss in, but heâs my cousin, Ray is, and even if he doesnât have money, heâs got
me. Rayâs
family, and for Ray, Iâll sue you guys for free. Hell, Iâll even pay the expenses. Plus Iâm gonna put a jury notice in, too, come to think of it, âcause juries--â
Senior Counsel cut me off, and moved his client to the back of the courtroom. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back. I watched as Senior Counsel wrote a single digit on the Minutes, a zero, written right where I wanted it.
âYouâll have to initial the change,â I said to the Head of Sy-C0, and it gave me great satisfaction to watch him sign.
âDonât forget,â I said the moment his pen stopped moving, âfor the settlement to be valid, I need to get the money today. Right now.â
âCanât it wait until tomorrow?â the Head said.
âNot if you want the settlement to stay in place. Iâll follow you back to your office, and you can put a cheque in my hands.â
âWhatâs this?â my wife said when I entered the apartment later that day, after Iâd driven Dr. M home, stopping first at a local pub for beers.
âItâs an absurdly expensive bunch of flowers,â I said, âalthough no flowers, however beautiful, however expensive, could expiate my--â
She took the flowers, and gave a kiss.
âMy mom called. She told me what happened. You fixed things with my dad.â
âYup,â I said. I had certainly done that. Iâd made Dr. M a professor again, if only for a few minutes. Not only a professor, but an expert witness. The judge had declared him an expert in plain terms and Dr.M had beamed when heâd heard those words.
âAnd you won Rayâs case, too. But my mom didnât know how, and I donât know how you did it either.â
âIâll tell you over dinner tonight,â I said.
âBut we agreed no more dinners out; we have to save money, now that a babyâs coming.â
I passed her the envelope that Iâd received a few hours before. She opened it, and took out a cheque, a cheque drawn up for an amount I specified, made payable to Mr. and Mrs. Calledinthe90s.
The moment I got that cheque, all I could think about was how my wife would react when I put it into her hands. I could not wait to see her eyes bulge, to hear her voice say âoh my god,â to hear her laugh.
She did none of these things. Instead, she cried.
âDoes this mean we can buy a house?â The money wouldnât be enough to buy a house, not nowadays, with prices being so crazy. But things were different back then in the 90s. Sure, the internet was barely a thing and cell phones were super expensive and a lot of things sucked, but Iâll give the nineties one thing: houses were cheap.
âI think so,â I said.
This is a long one and the details are important to the situation so there wonât be a TLDR. Letâs get into it:
Iâm (32M) a real estate agent and a few months ago I went into an open house and met a lovely agent (31F) from another company. (Because of the nature of how real estate works, agents know other local people within the field possibly more so than in any other business. Two accountants at two different car companies probably will never cross paths, but two real estate agents at two separate firms almost certainly will, so this is an ever se slight âshitting where you eatâ situation. Anyway.) We chit chat a bit and part ways. This happens a few more times until the third time I make a joke off a particular situation that was happening and she started dying of laughter (this was about 2 months ago). I friend requested her on instagram later that day and messaged her a continuation of the joke. We havenât messaged much but we have liked a few of each otherâs posts here and there and weâve seen each other a few more times for work between then and now, having some banter each time.
Recently (about a week ago) I was at an open house she was sitting and when I walked in we greeted each other and she went for a hug. Not one of those polite one arm hugs you give to an acquaintance or that aunt you donât like, a full double arm wrap around hug. We chit chat and she does it again as Iâm leaving. I see her again yesterday and she does the same thing. Weâre chatting a bit and I think of a movie I wanted to recommend to her but couldnât think of the name but said I would text it to her. A few hours later I go to text her and realize I donât have her number. I message her on Instagram instead and say âthis is the movie I was talking about earlier. I was gonna text you but apparently I donât have your number.â She responsds âAhhh, Iâm gonna have to watch it!â And then âlol itâs (number) in case you ever needâ. I respond âIâll have to think of a reason⊠maybe some more movie recsâ as a cheeky light flirt. I text her a quick message saying âhey, hereâs my numberâ. The next morning she thumbs up reacts to the text and then 10 minutes later she âlikesâ the Instagram message from the night before with the standard heart reaction when you like something on instagram.
What I am confused about now is if my light flirting was received well. In my head the like reactions feel cold but I might just be reading way too into it. What are some ways I can further test the waters?
I want to tread carefully with this, as no matter the outcome, we will have to see each other for work. Any advice and insight is greatly appreciated but please keep things positive.
This is a long one and the details are important to the situation so there wonât be a TLDR. Letâs get into it:
Iâm (32M) a real estate agent and a few months ago I went into an open house and met a lovely agent (31F) from another company. (Because of the nature of how real estate works, agents know other local people within the field possibly more so than in any other business. Two accountants at two different car companies probably will never cross paths, but two real estate agents at two separate firms almost certainly will, so this is an ever se slight âshitting where you eatâ situation. Anyway.) We chit chat a bit and part ways. This happens a few more times until the third time I make a joke off a particular situation that was happening and she started dying of laughter (this was about 2 months ago). I friend requested her on instagram later that day and messaged her a continuation of the joke. We havenât messaged much but we have liked a few of each otherâs posts here and there and weâve seen each other a few more times for work between then and now, having some banter each time.
Recently (about a week ago) I was at an open house she was sitting and when I walked in we greeted each other and she went for a hug. Not one of those polite one arm hugs you give to an acquaintance or that aunt you donât like, a full double arm wrap around hug. We chit chat and she does it again as Iâm leaving. I see her again yesterday and she does the same thing. Weâre chatting a bit and I think of a movie I wanted to recommend to her but couldnât think of the name but said I would text it to her. A few hours later I go to text her and realize I donât have her number. I message her on Instagram instead and say âthis is the movie I was talking about earlier. I was gonna text you but apparently I donât have your number.â She responsds âAhhh, Iâm gonna have to watch it!â And then âlol itâs (number) in case you ever needâ. I respond âIâll have to think of a reason⊠maybe some more movie recsâ as a cheeky light flirt. I text her a quick message saying âhey, hereâs my numberâ. The next morning she thumbs up reacts to the text and then 10 minutes later she âlikesâ the Instagram message from the night before with the standard heart reaction when you like something on instagram.
What I am confused about now is if my light flirting was received well. In my head the like reactions feel cold but I might just be reading way too into it.
I want to tread carefully with this, as no matter the outcome, we will have to see each other for work. Any advice and insight is greatly appreciated but please keep things positive.
Hello friends, I just got my Taycan back from getting wrapped/cerakoted. It looks awesome, but I realized a little while after picking it up that my windows are stuck... they won't go all the way down and stop at about 3/4 of the way open (even if I keep holding the down button). This is happening to all four windows, with my front driver's side window having extra problems (when I try to bring it back up, it always goes up a tiny bit and then back down the first couple times, and I have to let it sit for several seconds before I can get it to go up again).
I read a couple posts that said to reset the windows by rolling them all the way up, pulling the up button again, and then rolling them all the way down before restarting the car. But I guess this isn't working for me since I can't roll them all the way down :')
Any ideas?
Does anyone know any good wraps that accurately emulate the Performance Blue color?
I plan on getting a 24â w/DCT in the near future and noticed that of the 200 within a 250 mile radius of me, there are 3 in PB and all manual. So with that in mind, Iâd probably go Intense Blue or Red and just wrap the car in PB down the road
Im gonna try to make this quick. Im not from an english speaking country, so sorry for grammarical errors in advance.
So me (23m) and my ex (21f) broke up a year ago when i found out she started seeing another guy behind my back.
She has a cousin (36f). She was as fake as they make them. Would smile at you and compliment you when you talk than trash on you behind your back. She would always turn any and every conversation to her as the centre of it. There were many "episodes" where her family caught her lying. She would tell them she has a great paying job, bought gifts, expensive brand clothes and accessories, and then we would find out she is jobless and took a loan to appear "rich". She once lied to an eye surgeon that she is also a doctor and works with disabled children to get a discount, and stuff like that. She would frequently lie on her resume to get a job. She is very attractive, so she has quite an easy time getting high paying jobs before they find out she is practically useless. She always manages to find a boss who is in his 40's and divorced, and wraps him around her finger. By the time he finds out, she already has another job in another town lined up.
well about half a year before me and gf's breakup, her husband of 7 years divorced her because he found out she is cheating on him. She was jobless and had to move to my gfs family house for about 3 months. Now, my ex was very introverted and had a difficulty finding people to hang out with. So she spent a lot of time with her cousin. During that time i started noticing gradual changes in my ex, she stopped communicating openly, insisting i figure all the things she has a problem with out by myself. She would stubbornly not allow me to tell my side of the story in arguments, refuze to apologize for getting angry at me and refuzing to talk to me over the simplest and dumbest reasons, etc. She started going on parties with her cousin, and over time wouldn't even tell me. I heard her cousin tell her that she should be a "girl boss", strong woman and not let any man rule her life. Just for your info, i never in my life had a problem with her going out and meeting people, in fact I encouraged her to do so. Im not gonna go into detail but over time she convinced her that she should not be tied down in her 20s, and should find out whats out there. And if me and my ex have true love, i will understand and we will get back together eventually.
what a load of bullsh#t from an unhappy divorced 40 year old bitter woman, but having this spoon fed into your head 24/7 for half a year, its gonna stick on you.
i do not solely blame the cousin for how things ended, my ex should have kicked a toxic person like that from her life, but damn, learning this as time went on was very frustrating.
sorry, here comes the revenge part:
i recently found out the cousin got a very nice job in a pretty solid company, as a "senior account manager", whatever that really is. Must be nice though, she even has a brand new bmw company car to use. The catch is, she is listed with a Major, and a MBA degree. Well, i know 100% for a fact she barely managed to finish highschool. And she is very capable of forging some kind of fake degree diploma from a university god knows where (we live in central/eastern part of europe). What do you know thats kind of illegal, like up to 3 years in prison illegal.
She also has about 150 000$ loan she is paying off, so she really needs that job to cover her bills.
Well dear reddit, iam gathering evidence that she forged her degree documents, and i want to send it to her boss/company managment. I would also like to report it if possible, so any future company she applies to can see she commited forgery of documents.
now 2 things can happen...
no.1 - absolutely nothing. Her boss might be sleeping with her and want to protect her, or just straight up not care, or even read it.
no.2 - sh#t goes nuclear and she will hit the rock bottom.
iam still not sure if iam going to do it, or how exactly to go about it, so i appreciate all advice, and criticism. thank you for getting this far
I've heard a term (it may just be slang) for when some random Joe wraps their car with a branded design like twix or captain crunch for no actual gain I just can't remember what the actual word is
In Sherman Oaks, I (M, 28) was walking alone to my car in broad daylight. Guy kept saying âmy dude, my dudeâ and I saw he was following me as I was walking quickly.
I said âIâm goodâ and got in my car. He got in his. While in my car he was pulling out then rolled down his window and was flashing a credit card to me, probably to make me think I dropped one of my cards. I checked my wallet and had everything. I shook my head.
He left and I followed him out to the same left turn signal. He saw and immediately whipped a U turn.
Anyone know what he was trying to do? Worst case scenario I assume he was going to rob me. I had a moderately nice looking watch on. Or he legitimately found a card on the ground? I donât know.
Stay safe out there!