Ava Adore

DSM of Dbags: Type E: “Bank Run/ner.”

Installment five of the catalogue of the douchebags I meet.

Last night’s Douchebag of the Night: Type E, the “Bank Run/ner.”

The psychology of the Bank Run/ner involves insecurity and cowardice underneath a shield of machismo. The stealth ninjas of strip club douchebaggery, they’ll tip you, buy you drinks, and even say, all on their own, “I want to get a private with you, etc etc.” Then, bam! Doom: “Let me just run to the bank.” You will never see them again. Kiss it goodbye, they’re not coming back, and you just met a Bank Run/ner.

All Bank Run/ners are interchangeable. Unlike Pimp Juices and Father Figures, which can exhibit through different conversational characteristics, all Bank Run/ners are, in essence, entirely the same. I could tell you about the guy last night, but it’s the story of every one of the Bank Run/ners we’ve ever met.

So Lilah and I just stepped out of the locker room, I go to bullshit with some guy, and then, unrequited, I wander over to Lilah because I’m bored. She’s chatting with two large older gents, one was interested in me because she’d mentioned I work with handcuffs in the club. So we all got to talking, and we say the right lines, and he buys us drinks, and blah blah blah.

Then he says, ‘I just have to go mumblemumblemumble’—I should mention I have trouble hearing, it may have been bathroom or ATM, either way, irrelevant—and he and Lilah disappear for a minute, and she comes back, alone, to me, saying: ‘He wants me to take his wallet. He wants to spend it on us. What do we do?’

Because at heart we’re nice girls, we couldn’t literally take his wallet. So we decided on a price: a 15 minute private is $120 per girl, making 15 minutes for two of us $240. He wanted an hour of our time, in theory, so we doubled that, at $480, which is still half price. He said without battling a lash, ‘No problem at all, I just have to run to the bank.’

Lilah and I look at each other. We know those words. ‘But there’s an ATM right here,’ we say. ‘It charges a lot of money to take out money.’ True. ‘But you can charge it at the bar,’ we say. ‘No, it’s no trouble, I’ll just go to the bank, it’s right up the block.’ And then it’s too late. Then there’s nothing you can do. The guy was a regular, too. Doesn’t matter.

Don’t ever let them go ‘to the bank.’ Ever.