# The Thursday Night Bet



## DonovanMD (Apr 6, 2005)

The Thursday Night Bet (or A Day in the Life of a Poor Student) 



I pulled into the bank yesterday, same as I do at least 4 or 5 times a month. I needed a few bucks to get me by until Friday. Payday. Every Friday at midnight I can bless the lord when I have money. When you’re a 20 year old part time student working a security gig to make ends meet, the bi weekly pay days are circled in red on the calendar. The first weekend after that direct deposit is party weekend. 

Like any red blooded male I enjoy a few brews, and that’s my fun weekend. By the second weekend I’m starting to look closer at my statements. Somehow I have to make that 71 dollars last another week. And by the Thursday leading up to payday, I’m usually back in the same boat all over again. Scraping every penny like the cheap Scotsman I am.

This Thursday I punch in a $60 dollar withdraw from savings. Yeah. That’s my life savings. Fuck you, you rich fucks. 

I have a really short attention span and while waiting the 15 seconds for the ATM machine to spit tonight’s drinking money into my hand I grab a few of the transaction statements people always toss on the top of the machine and flip through them.

The first one read:

Withdraw: $80
Balance: $1,119.78

Fucker. I hate being poor. 
The second one read:

Withdraw: $20
Balance: $66.18

Haha. Its nice not to be the only guy worrying about money. Somehow the pain of others makes me smile.

The third one read:

Withdraw: $400 
Balance: $881, 286.92

WHAT? Are you fucking kidding me? Nearly a million dollar balance? And from a fucking chequing account!? I’ve got to start watching who uses these ATMs a little closer. At this point I’m not against anything, even anything illegal, in the effort to keep my head above water.

“Move it kid! I’m not getting an fucking younger here,” cried this not-so-sweet little old lady behind me. 

“Hold your fucking horses,” I mumbled back, pocketing the statement and money and heading out the door on the way home.

--

So that night at the regular hangout, Sherlock Holmes pub downtown, my buddies James, Greg, Marko and his fiance Annette sat and drank away our woes. Being on the tight budget I am, I was nursing just my second beer while listening to Marko and Ann blather on about their recent engagement. It’s a weird feeling when guys my age, guys I grew up with, are getting married. I sat there rolling my eyes and agreeing that Lilacs would make much nicer dinner table bouquets than roses when Ann said to me “Aww, don’t worry Donovan. There’s a girl out there for you. And who ever she is, she will be one lucky gal!”

Thanks. 

Could it get any better than this?

“Listen, I may not have a steady girlfriend, but I am not hurting here. Not everyone wants to be getting married at twenty. Besides, I like being single. I like having the option of going up to any girl in here and making a move, at any time.”

Greg: “Listen to Don Juan over there. Mr. Ladies man. Any girl in here, any time, huh?”

James: “That sounds like a bet.”

Greg: “It sure does. 20 bucks says you cant even get a date out of the woman of our choosing.”

Never one to back down from a bet, I accepted and added, “No problem. Pick the woman.”

“Confident eh?” Marko chimed in. “How about forty bucks. Well each chip in ten. I want to see “The Master” in action. Haha.”

I reached deep into my jeans and pulled out two twenties and change. “But, that’s the last of my drinking money.”

Greg smiled that arrogant smile that’s lulled me into a false sense of security in the past, usually before picking my wallet. I downed the last sip of my beer and still very sober said, “Deal. Pick the girl.”

Thursdays are always busy. Ladies Night. The pub wasn’t especially full, but the female to male ration was at least 2:1. Being right downtown and a stones throw from a local college, the place fills up even on week days. Looking around I was pretty confident of myself. None of the single women seemed like much of a challenge, even sober.

Just then, like a scene from a teenage movie, the door opened up and in walked 3 girls. The first two were fat pigs and all of us at the table averted our eyes. But as the two fatties stepped aside, coming in behind them was this woman. And not just any woman. The bartender dropped the glass he was cleaning. The two man band skipped a beat of the chorus of Lynard Skynards “Free Bird”. And every man turned his head to look.

Picture this: A five foot nine, one hundred and twenty pound, black haired, green eyed girl with hips slightly larger than her waist. Wearing a knee length black skirt, shiny black “fuck me” boots and a sexy black top with a plunging neckline. She’s got the high, firm, amazing looking ass and perky palm sized breasts, nipples poking skyward. When she looks at you with those piercing eyes and half cocked smile you tell yourself you would give anything for a night with her. The guys instantly sport wood, and the women sigh and go the washroom to see how fat they look tonight.

“Her. Get a date with her.”

I look at Greg in disgust and sorrow. “Fuck you man. Fuck you.”

All of them laugh and chime in their agreement. Greg looks back at her, now sitting at a booth across the pub before adding, “Whenever you’re ready Romeo.”

I sigh and mumble something about needing to go and take a leak and slide away to the washroom, the table giggling away at their entertainment for the night. I wash my face and look at myself in the mirror. 

Why the fuck didn’t I shave tonight? And why did I wear this shirt? Fuck, my hair doesn’t look good at all. I wet it down and mold it into place with my hands. I do the clothing press and pat down and take a deep breath before looking at myself again. I am so fucked. I dig around in my pockets for a stick of gum, when suddenly an idea comes to me. 

I smile and take another deep breath before pushing through the door.

--

“Hi there, my names Donovan. I noticed you all coming in, mind if I have a seat?”

The fatties both giggle their approval while Ms. Perfect just rolls her eyes in that “here we go again” sort of way. I slide in next to Fattie One, right across from Ms. Perfect. 

I smiled my most sincere smile, and started with the small talk to ease into conversation. The fatties were all over it, while Ms. Perfect had her bitch shield up in full. Ready to deflect any advancements at a moments notice. I had to break her down.

“So what do you all do. Do you go to school up the road?” I asked.

The fatties blathered about their jobs at Dairy Queen or Burger Kind of something while Ms. Perfect, who introduced herself as Anita, said, “Yes. I’m taking an Arts course. I drink gin and tonic by the way.”

I smiled at her and feeling of enlightenment and said, “Well I drink Whiskey Sours if your buying.”

Anita scoffed and retorted with, “Excuse me. I don’t buy drinks for boys.”

“Well I don’t buy drinks for girls. So, do you work at all?”

I had already assumed she was used to living in the lap of luxury, and probably lived off the dime of daddy dearest.

“I model in my spare time. It pays the bills,” she said in an offhand way, giving me the look one might reserve for a homeless man masturbating on a park bench.

I smiled again thinking: Perfect. A model. And replied, “Oh yeah? Like….a hand model or something?”

Anita didn’t just scoff. She gasped. She wasn’t used to being insulted by men. Especially about her looks, which were enough to turn even Gir-Draxon straight. Her bitch shield was down.

At this point she was in unfamiliar territory. A man who had shown enough interest to come over and say hello had just insulted her and was now chatting contently with her very fat, very ugly friends. I imagine she wondered what the fuck was going on. But still, despite my fake confidence I was still intimidated by Anita and all her beauty. So I put her into checkmate and finished off my scheme, ensuring I would get a date with her and win the bet.

“Listen, it was fun meeting you all, but I have friends across the pub and it would be rude to abandon them. But Anita, I’m going to give you my number and you can call me tomorrow and well have dinner together and continue this conversation.”

I pulled out the bank statement I had found that afternoon and scribbled my name and number on it. And handed it to her, probably beaming like an idiot. 

“Don’t lose that old bank statement, or you’ll be out of luck. Good night ladies.”

I walked back across the pub and rejoined my friends.

“She will call me. Tomorrow.” I said flatly.

Bullshit was the general consensus. 

“I’ll let the machine pick it up,” I told them. “And you can owe me tomorrow night.”

--

Thinking back, you could see the moment at Anitas table when she and her friends realised that I wasn’t just original, but wealthy. Or so she thinks anyway.

She called this afternoon saying she would very much like to see me for dinner sometime and to call her back as soon as I can. I did and we have plans for dinner tonight. I also forwarded the message to each of my friends and told Greg I would have to collect my money Saturday.

But I cant stay and chat anymore. I have to pick up Anita for dinner and my bus arrives in a couple minutes. Hopefully its on schedule this time, fucking public transportation. Were going to Earls, but I’m going to eat light tonight, probably a water and some mints. I only have 20 dollars on me. At least until midnight.


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## Sunshine_Haze (Apr 7, 2005)

hey i really loved this. it's witty funny and best of all so true.
funnily enough I'm a 20 year old student scot too, although i don't live in america which i presume you do. i really like the opening with the bank statements, i wasn't particularly sure where it was gong then bam! i got it.
I'm surprised you haven't had any other posts. Your writing style is very similar to my own, clear witty observations, writing about what you know works best, and it shows here

well done! :sunny:


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## DonovanMD (Apr 7, 2005)

Thanks a lot. Most of my writing are these essay/stories about day to day stuff. I find thats usually the funniest anyhow, you just have to know how to word it. I posted some work in fiction and have only been here a few days, but I'll probably be posting in Non-Fiction the most. To bad this stuff doesnt get many reviews.

Oh, and I'm Canadian.


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## gohn67 (Apr 8, 2005)

Sorry it took so long to get to this, but I thought this was awesome.  I loved how you tied the atm reciept of the rich guy into getting a date with Anita.


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## buildit (Apr 15, 2005)

Great story.  Enough said.


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## Wyndstar (Apr 16, 2005)

*Story*

This is the first story I've read in this section and I'm really glad I didn't miss it.  It was hilarious in a sarcastic, life sucks lemons but here's some sugar sort of way.  The writing is crisp, frank and easy to relate to.  Nice stuff.


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## kikumbob (Apr 23, 2005)

*Re: Story*



			
				Wyndstar said:
			
		

> This is the first story I've read in this section...


 same with me. I dont normally lose myself in non-fiction because my life is real enough. But I loved the concept of this and when I noticed what his idea was I laughed aloud. You must do more. I cant see how hes gonna pull this stunt off.


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## DonovanMD (Apr 26, 2005)

Thanks guys. I think Non fiction, piece of life style essays are the most fun to write, read and relate to anyway. I write fiction of course, but it gets boring sometimes.


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