The bimbo in limbo
said the future is free.
— The Faker Fake
The date was February 14th, 2022. Valentine's Day. But instead of being with a Valentine, I was with a clown. Sort of.
The name on her resume said Abigail Porterfield. Her name on Facebook was "Abbie Right Over!" The exclamation point was hers, not mine. It was the first of too many. She even spoke in exclamation points.
She said, "Wow! I've never gone to a bar for a job interview before! It feels so informal! But I've never been on a real job interview before, so, y'know! I don't know! Maybe this is how it's done? I've been in employment limbo for a while. The job market for entrepreneurs is, like, y'know, really tight!"
Wow, indeed. So much wow.
So much youth.
So much enthusiasm.
So little substance.
We were at The Lounge Lizard, which is exactly the kind of place you think it is. Dirty. Dingy. And dark, though not dark enough to hide the dumbness. My God, there was a light in this girl's eyes that could shine across the whole world without illuminating a goddamn thing. I wanted to put my ear to her head to see if I could hear the ocean. Or would it sound more like tumbleweeds rolling across the prairie? I couldn't help wondering.
Claire was gone. I needed to find another way to lure marks, and I sure as shit wasn't gonna split profits with another girl.
I found a better way.
I posted an ad on Facebook Marketplace, looking for a "social media maven, ready to make the leap into offline events planning and coordination." Maven was code for, "must be a chick." Everything else meant "and gullible."
Abbie was the first to reply, and she was both. I kept the ad up for a while, but even if I'd left it up for a lifetime, no one could top her.
Her resume was three pages long, but it only listed one job. In high school, she worked the fryer at Shark's Fish & Chicken, a job which she'd just told me she didn't even interview for.
The rest of her resume read like a what's what of what the fuck?
It said she was a Social Media Influencer, Entrepreneur, Independent Filmmaker, Model, Personal Trainer, and of course, a mother fucking Life Coach, but there were no references for anything. Just social media links, most of which were dead, plus job descriptions for non-jobs, and an endless list of personal attributes, my favorite of which was that she's A Real Go Getter. Her resume said so, caps and all. And it must be true, because I got her.
Her Instagram had a couple hundred followers. Mostly bots, plus a couple guys who wanted to bang her. Her TikTok had thousands of followers. All of them bots and MLM scams.
She was exactly what I needed. Over-eager and too clueless to ask questions. Everything about her was too much. Even her boobs. Too perky. Her hair too. It fluffed out in tight curls that went everywhere, yet had nowhere to go.
"This is a different kind of job," I explained. "I have venture capital money, earmarked to create a service oriented sustainable Bitcoin events service that sustainably serves others."
Just saying that sentence made my brain ache.
Abbie said, "Ooohhh, that sounds amazing!"
"Let's talk specifics. I need someone who can create a couple Bitcoin-oriented meetup events per month. I'll give you locations. Bars and pubs mostly. Under the radar places." Places where I could run valet parking scams to get marks to hand over their keys so I can copy 'em. Shhhhh. Abbie didn't know. "If you get the job, you'll be the only one who knows you're being paid," because it's a scam. "And you'll be paid in cash," for the same reason.
"You'll earn $500 per event, assuming you get at least twenty Bitcoiners to show up. Each event will be somewhere different, because we want as many people to meet as many people as possible, all without them knowing this was being funded, that way, it all feels organic."
I was laying it on, thick.
"Our mission is to energize decentralized engagement by facilitating scalable interpersonal ecosystems where empowered individuals can organically cultivate long-term, values-driven communities, y'know? It's about synergy."
THiiiiiiiCK.
"Your official job title would be Bitcoiner Integration & Meetup Benevolence Officionado," because she's such a fucking B.I.M.B.O., and yes, I know that's not how aficionado is spelled, but she didn't and I didn't care.
"Our job is to build it, so they can grow it, systematically, yet organically."
Oh. So. Thick... organically.
"So, it's, like, a business?" Abbie asked.
"It's venture capital, invested, in the hopes that money spent now will lay the foundation for building a community of the future."
Oh, holy shit girl! Wham! Bam! Hello scam!
My God, she's got me using exclamation points too.
"Right," she said. "I totally get that! And I'm totally obsessed!!! There's so much we can do! The future is free, you know!"
This, I did not know.
"Free?" I asked, mistakenly.
"Free range," she said. "Ideas will just flow! Organically!!!"
"We are the world, Abbie. And the future is now."
Never doubt the power of platitudes.
"YOU'RE SO RIGHT!" she said, because of course she did.
"I know."
"ALL OF THIS SOUNDS AMAZE!"
"...ing?"
"YES!!! I want to be part of this!!!"
"And you should, Abbie. Because, years from now..."
...you'll be in a ditch...
"...you'll be able to look back..."
...more likely up, from six feet under...
"...and reflect on how you were part of building something so special."
"I've always wanted to be part of something special!"
"Well, I'm definitely looking for a special person, Abbie."
This girl was definitely special.
"I'm obsessed!" she shrieked. "I love this! And I'm IN love, WITH this!!!"
"Love is what it's all about, isn't it, if you really think about it. It's about love for Bitcoin, and love for building a community of independently-minded, forward-thinking entrepreneurs. A community which can then grow by itself, organically."
I do love Bitcoin. That part was true. But I fucking hate the word Organic.
"This job sounds amazing, Phoebe!!!"
Yeah, that's right.
I took one look at this bimbo and knew it was time for the return of Phoebe Delgado. No way would this chick get my real name. Not even my preferred fake name. I gave my dumbest partner in crime my dumbest alias.
"How long can I have to think it over?" she asked.
"Oh, take as long as you need, Abbie. But I only have one position available, and I have other applicants t..."
"I'M IN! I'M IN! OH MY GOD! I'M ALREADY OBSESSED!!!"
And I'm gonna puke.
And also...
...OK.
Yeah, I know.
We've gotta back up a bit, because I said a thing, and it was mostly a joke, but I know you cringed, so...
No, she wasn't going to end up in a ditch, but I was already two bodies down: Steve and Boogie. And let's not kid ourselves. Abbie was disposable. But, not to worry. She'll be fine. Probably.
And I would definitely be fine, because I'd reworked everything to keep myself insulated.
That's why the new plan was perfect.
I didn't meet the marks.
I didn't enter the homes.
I didn't suffer the consequences.
This chick didn't even know my real fake name. And she was too stupid to wonder why I only met her at places like this.
Good God. If my scam didn't get her, somebody else's would.