Fast Friendships

My whole life, I have been trying to dream up the next great “million-dollar idea.” Friends and family can attest to the endless ponderings of my troubled mind, the sometimes inspired but never executable stream of possible inventions and schemes. An enumeration of each idea I have given honest consideration to would fill these pages, and unfortunately, would only be so much refuse. Who can forget my staunch advocacy of Cold Pockets™, the delicious refrigerator snack to rival Hot Pockets™, available in flavors like tuna fish and egg salad sandwich? Then there was the campaigning I did for my YouTube channel ideas: Homework Hunks™ and Homework Hotties™. My premise was that everyone goes online to learn how to solve quadratic equations or identify direct objects, etc., so why not satisfy those needs with the other thing everyone goes online for and have the tutors in their videos be scantily clad models? Certainly, the world has not forgotten the blood and sweat I dedicated to pitching the SmartTub™, an invention that could fill a bathtub to the exact temperature of your choice at the exact time of your choosing, even from an app on your phone. Want bubbles? Scents? Those upgrades are optional. I could see this going into every new home in America! But alas, every one of these glimpses at wealth and renown met with the harshest of criticism, with hurtful words like “gross,” “indecent,” and “insurance liability” used to strike down each in turn. So too was the fate of my blow dryer bidet, automatic noodle softener, pee-flap bib, Hairpods™ - airpods covered in fake hair (which come in all natural hair colors) so that kids can wear them in school classes without their teachers noticing, EweTube™ - my channel for people who need to count sheep to get to sleep, and “Real Life Hunger Games”™ reality TV show pitch. Faced with so many failures and so much discouragement, it’s no wonder I eventually sank to such despicable levels. But more on that momentarily.

The other problem with being a troubled genius, in addition to being broke and unrecognized, is that one usually finds oneself without a partner. Much like I couldn’t get anyone to eat my Cold Pocket Curried Chicken and Apple™ sandwiches, I also could never convince any women out there to love me. And who’s to blame them? Would you want to be the gal that took a flyer on the guy who dreamed up a way to keep the little dribbles of pee from showing on the front of one’s slacks when the given urinator has tucked it in too quickly? Nope. Not you, not your sister, and not your spinster aunt either. Furthermore, I have always been as good at pitching myself as I have been at pitching my products and ideas, that is, in a word, terrible. It seemed, for the longest time, that I was destined to travel the drab and bleary landscape of this sepia desert as a lone rider.

Then, the idea came, and it was the ultimate ‘two birds with one stone’ type of thinking that only someone of my erudition could have come up with. Ten years ago, at an age when it was still societally acceptable to be a virgin, I would have dismissed it outright. Also, if not for the washing away of so many dreams in those intervening years, the damnable relinquishment of opportunity after opportunity to invent and to break free and change the world, I don’t think I would have gone through with it. But, like all of my million-dollar ideas, when this one found a home within my head and my heart, I couldn’t orphan it on the streets of disregard. I had to bring it up, release it into the world fully formed, and see what would happen. I shouldn’t have done it. I know it wasn’t right. But even now, as I sit in comfort and remain in relative anonymity, I can not repent of it. The feeling of success, to my own moral discredit, outweighs the social and ethical arguments against my behavior. I blame the world for not recognizing what was potentially good in all of my earlier inventions and instead allowing for so much filth to flow so easily, because when I set things in motion, it sure did seem easy.

Just look at me meandering, hemming and hawing about like someone with too much shame to come right out and tell it! Truth be told, I am ashamed, but only because of all the things that would have and could have worked; it was this one that did. And it is no doubt more gross, indecent, and insurance unfriendly than any of the others. Gads! Just let me share it already and be done!

My mind was more preoccupied with my second great concern (being a lonely, single, never-loved man) than the first (being a broke, unacknowledged sagacious creator). That was why I was looking for information about something I had seen in a film once that might help me to get the ever-elusive girlfriend: speed dating. I had tried dating websites before, as I was to learn almost everyone who would attend a speed dating event had, but my honesty on those forums always eliminated me from real romantic contention. Speed dating, however, offered what I saw as an appealing alternative. Perhaps, my brain reasoned, I was only unmatable when one really got to know me. Surely I could be charming in small, short doses!

Then I found a venue operating in a nearby city, and upon reviewing its operating procedures, my mind began to formulate how my second great concern could be the answer to my first. God, I wish I weren’t so proud of how it all came together in my brain.

Before I tell you, let me just share a few thoughts on crime. What an evolution that word has undergone! Gone are the days when something criminal is synonymous with something violent. One doesn’t need to hold up a train, knock out a security guard, or blast the doors off a bank vault to get rich the illegal way anymore. Things like guns and bombs need not even be involved! I bet prisons today are nothing like those violent 80s movies I used to watch, with tatted-up dudes lifting mad weights in the yard and beating each other to death with their cafeteria trays. If most felons are like me, they weigh about 150 pounds soaking wet, have never touched a barbell in their lives, and if they do have a tattoo, it is probably either Star Trek or Star Wars adjacent. I’m guessing most prison cafeterias look more like those back rooms at trading card shops where people get together to play Warhammer or Magic: The Gathering than they do the testosterone fests of ages past. Still, I hope I never have to find out the truth of these suspicions. Mostly because, you know, butt stuff.

Let me just come to the truth of it already, with all my mana tapped and the Force be with me! I found the place for speed dating. It was called: Fast Friendships. This was how it operated. They had dozens of tables and could accommodate scores of love seekers at once. On Friday and Saturday nights, starting promptly at 7 pm, the speed dating events would commence. Prospective lovebirds could seat themselves at any built-for-two table of their choice in this giant auditorium, and at the sound of a buzzer, could begin getting to know the person across from them. Granted, most people who would need to attend such an event most likely have an ample amount of social awkwardness built into their psyches, so Fast Friendships had a solution for that. Knowing that the easiest thing for people to discuss is often themselves, Fast Friendships had a system in place to begin conversations between strangers in normal ways by supplying them with a list of randomly generated ‘getting-to-know-you’ questions.

The Fast Friendships website even had a cute video showing how the question-asking process worked, breaking it down so even the shyest of introverts couldn’t mess it up. In the video, a makeupless (but still adorable) lady named Lily pushed a button on the display screen that rested on the table in front of her. The video panned to the screen, and on it was displayed the text: TALK A LITTLE ABOUT WHERE YOU GREW UP, AND THEN ASK WHERE THEY GREW UP. Panning back out to Lily, we see her contemplate this simple prompt for a quick second and then say aloud, “I grew up in a small town in rural Iowa. I’m pretty sure there were more cows than people.” An appreciative male chuckle came from offscreen, and then Lily asked (in the direction of the chuckle), “What were things like where you grew up?” Then the video panned back to show the whole table. On the other side was a freckle-faced twenty-something fella with soft features and tousled hair, and as he began to speak (unaudiably now as some lovey-dovey slow jazz came over the dialogue), both Lily and her new beau began to relax into comfortable smiling conversation. And just like that, the ball was rolling! The tutorial went on to explain that one could push their display for prompts as often as they felt the need. Then, at the end of five minutes, if the two wanted to exchange contact information, they could tap a smiley face icon on the screen, and their information would be sent as a notification to the other’s device (first and last name, cell phone number, email address, and a headshot to keep everyone straight later on). After that, you picked a new table at random, and the procedure began all over again.

The whole process seemed so simple. It eliminated much of the trepidation that comes from trying to start and carry on a conversation, and also eliminated the fear of pursuing further the ‘getting to know you’ process. It was a great dating idea, and I hoped that the people who thought it up were newfound millionaires. I realized right away, however, that it was also totally exploitable, and it was also possibly the big break I had been watching for my entire life.

That Friday night, I put on my best duds, tousled my hair, spritzed myself with some Axe body spray (not too much!), and headed downtown to Fast Friendships to carry out my dastardly plan. I paid my admission fee, allowed them to take the headshot that would be shared with the contact info I provided (which was all false - I did not want anyone tracking me down after this!). Then, I sat myself at a random table-for-two and waited for the loucheness to begin.

The room began to fill, and pretty soon a very nice young lady whom I shall call “Belinda” sat across from me. The rest of the tables filled up, and then the emcee explained the procedure to us in the same way the website had. Clarifying questions from participants were asked and answered, and then a buzzer sounded, and round 1 began.

After sharing our names, Belinda and I sat in uncomfortable silence for a few seconds. She, no doubt, was waiting for me to get things going with an ice-breaker. I was wrestling with my conscience. Was I really about to go through with this? I still wasn’t sure. Needing something to do while I made a final decision, I pushed the screen in front of me for a prompt.

TALK ABOUT A PLACE WHERE YOU LIKE TO GO OUT TO DINNER, AND THEN ASK WHAT THEIR FAVORITE DINING SPOT IS.

I read the prompt to myself, looked into Belinda’s oval eyes, and said, “I grew up on a funny-sounding street. It was called ‘Concepcion Avenue’. This was weird since it was in Wisconsin and there were no Hispanic people anywhere.”

Belinda gave an appreciative giggle.

“What was the name of the street where you grew up?” I asked.

Belinda told me she “grew up on Main Street, dull as that sounds, in a house surrounded by other cheap homes and lots of little businesses.” She said she had to play in the backyard because the front was nonexistent, and there was too much traffic.

I chuckled appreciatively, like the fella in the video. I’m a quick learner.

Belinda eased a bit.

I pushed my screen for another prompt.

TALK ABOUT YOUR ‘GO-TO COMFORT FOODS AND THE LAST TIME YOU INDULGED. THEN ASK ABOUT THEIRS.

Instead, I said, “I’m glad my mom met and married my dad, because my dad’s last name, and my last name, is Johnson. My mom’s maiden name was Arreola. I’m not sure how she survived with that.”

Belinda giggled more appreciatively than before.

“What was your mom’s maiden name?” I asked her.

Belinda let me know that her mom went through the first twenty-five years of life as a Dickinson, which wasn’t bad, but that she, Belinda, was glad to always have been a Jacobs, which “seemed much less phallic.”

Belinda was kind of a hoot. I hated that I was doing this to her.

With the three minutes we had left, the screen prompted me to ask about what free-time activities she liked, where she enjoyed vacationing, what she had wanted to be when she grew up, and what she actually was.

Instead, I found out the name of her first pet, the mascot of her elementary school, and the make, model, and color of her first car.

Then she opted to share her contact information with me.

I think you can see where this is going…

In the next hour, I met and small-talked with twenty different women. I learned all about their cities of birth, fathers’ middle names, first concerts they attended, and childhood best friends’ names. Fourteen of these women decided to share their contact information with me (my ugliness and awkwardness too much a hindrance to charm some). Based upon jewelry and other apparel they were wearing, I figured five or six of these women were quite wealthy. With a detailed accounting of all of the answers to every possible security question they could be asked, I knew I could hack into their emails, use those to subvert any multi-factor authentication (which most people foolishly don’t even bother with), and then further hack into their bank accounts, PayPal, Venmo, CashApp, and whatever else their money would be tied to. It was all there, a million dollars at least, no doubt, and I could probably get it all in one night’s worth of work. I had already created a fake bank account to transfer all of the funds into. It was dastardly and evil, but it was also my ticket into a life of ease provided by my own imaginative genius, the thing I had always wanted.

And, I might have gone through with it too, if it hadn’t been for the final woman I met. I’ll call her Leticia. She was Hispanic, with big almond-shaped eyes and beautiful, almond colored skin. She also had a terrific sense of humor. The whole time I was conning her for her private information, I was wishing that I could actually just get to know her better, maybe to have a relationship with her, and to abandon my thoughts of crime forever. When she told me her father’s middle name was Dick, we laughed like clowns! But then our time was up, and she chose to share her contact info with me, and that’s when I saw it. Something clicked, and everything changed.

Leticia’s email address was skibidi_bano@gmail.com

At first, I actually lost a little respect for her, because she had taken the brainrot of this lost generation of TikTok addicts and translated it into another language. Then, remembering I was a man with absolutely no morals left myself, I began to wonder if there was something to that.

So yes, now you know the truth of it. I never stole any money from any of those women. Instead, inspired by the last and best among them, I created my TikTok Channel “Seis, Siete!” You’ve definitely seen it, and you’re probably a subscriber. I’m the guy who makes three-second videos of myself saying “6-7!” in multiple languages, always dressed up in some sort of garb connected to whatever culture I am borrowing from. I’m the guy who said “Roku, Nana!” in a kimono. “Sechs, Sieben!” in liederhosen. “Shest, Syen!” in a polar bear costume. “Sita, Saba!” in a lion skin thong. That’s Swahili. You get the point.

I am not the criminal I could have been, but thanks to the degenerate internet and the world’s lost attention spans, I am ashamedly a self-made millionaire. My stupid videos have more views than “Despecito.” I prefer to remain anonymous, but sometimes I’m recognized for the celebrity I am. I don’t prefer to date women who recognize me from my channel (the fact that they do recognize me says too much about them). However, with my newfound confidence and money, I’m thinking of hitting up Leticia, my muse and inspiration, she of the Spanish skibidi toilet brilliance and the Dick of a daddy.

In the end, I do want this to be a cautionary tale. Don’t give away personal information. Don’t trust strangers. But, also, and maybe just as importantly, don’t let a moment of inspiration pass you by. The world is full of undiscovered genius, and if a goofball like me can make it big, anyone can. Like they now say at the Dell Computer customer service center, “Chay, Saat!”