I met a guy named Ben on Tinder. He had some modeling photos in his profile (what can I say–I love a great six-pack). Models usually don’t make a lot of money, so I was a little wary, but he had listed his career as ‘entrepreneur’ so I figured that I was hitting the jackpot. Maybe he was an ex-model turned businessman!
I now know that when guys write “entrepreneur/self-employed” as their career description, they’re probably happily unemployed…or worse.
Ben and I exchanged numbers, so of course I checked out his Instagram. He didn’t have much to stalk, so I pried and asked him a little more about his entrepreneurial ventures. He told me that he invested in different businesses and even ran a small business of his own.
That was good enough for me at the time. He had terrible grammar, but I had decided that he wasn’t a catfish, so I agreed to get a drink near my apartment. He was very willing to come to me since he had a car, which I thought was weird…but he did live in Queens, so whatever.
Ben was very polite and charming, and he complimented me a lot. We had casual first date conversation, and we got along fine. I guess he felt comfortable with me after about an hour because when I asked him for more details about his business ventures, he finally told me the truth.
Ben was a delivery man. He delivered pot. Ben was a drug dealer. I was on a date with a drug dealer.
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