Her brother said he found “the perfect guy.” Against her better judgment, she agreed to one date—just to prove she hadn’t given up. Andy was charming, polite, even brought wildflowers. He held doors, listened attentively, and called their dinner “like something out of a rom-com.” By the end of the night, her walls had softened.
When he insisted on driving her home, she hesitated. She had a rule: no rides on first dates. But his sincerity wore her down. He opened the car door, waited while she got inside, even waved as he drove away. For once, she felt safe. Maybe even lucky.
That illusion shattered the next morning.
A PayPal request. Andy’s name. He’d billed her: $37.25. Gas, car depreciation, puddle splash cleaning—itemized decency. She laughed, then sent him $50 with a tip “for opening the door.” And blocked him.
When she showed her brother the invoice, he was mortified. The pickleball group that had vouched for Andy voted him out unanimously after hearing his defense: “Chivalry doesn’t pay for itself.”
Then came the kicker. A girl on TikTok posted her own “Andy invoice” from a different date—same breakdown, same entitlement. He wasn’t just rude—he was running a pattern.
Comments poured in:
“Ladies, beware of Andy’s Taxi & Misogyny Service.” “This man really said, ‘Pay me for being a gentleman.’”
She shared the video with her brother: “Your friend is TikTok famous.” He swore off matchmaking forever.
Now, she still dates. Still smiles. But always takes her own ride home. And she’s grateful—not for Andy—but for the unforgettable reminder: some disasters make the best stories. And the best lessons.
