Marcus lit up like I’d offered him free playoff tickets. “Trust me,” he said, “you’re going to love him.”
Spoiler: I didn’t love him. But it took a little time for the truth to slide out from behind his perfectly pressed button-down.
When Andy arrived to pick me up that Saturday, he showed up with a bouquet of wildflowers wrapped in brown paper — simple, thoughtful, and actually kind of charming. He was clean-cut, tall, well-spoken. The kind of guy who opens your car door without making a big performance out of it. He asked about my work in graphic design, listened without interrupting, didn’t check his phone once. By the time we were halfway through dinner at a cozy Italian place downtown, I was thinking, “Okay, fine. Maybe Marcus finally got one right.”
He told me about his job in accounting, but not in a way that made me want to claw my eyes out. He liked hiking. Read books. Treated the server with respect. Even complimented my taste in art after noticing a print hanging near my kitchen.
For the first time in a long while, I felt genuinely hopeful.
Then came the moment I should’ve listened to my instincts.
As we waited for the check, I pulled out my phone to order an Uber home. Not because I didn’t trust him — just because I have a rule. No rides home on first dates. Clean boundary. No pressure. No assumptions.
But Andy looked genuinely confused.
“Why would you get an Uber?” he asked. “I drove you here. A gentleman drives his date home.”
Normally, I’d stand my ground. But he said it with such sincerity that I let myself soften. He insisted it was about courtesy, not expectation. He didn’t try to linger at my door afterward. He didn’t push for anything. He was polite, thanked me for the evening, smiled, and drove off.
I went to bed with that rare, dangerous little feeling: maybe this could go somewhere.
And then came Sunday morning.
At 7:13 a.m., my phone buzzed. PayPal notification. I assumed it was spam — until I saw his name.
Andy had sent me a bill.
Not figuratively. Literally.
An itemized invoice for “expenses incurred during date-related transportation.”
Gas from restaurant to my home: $4.75
Vehicle depreciation: $3.50
Parking downtown: $20.00
Cleaning fee for “puddle splash marks” on passenger side: $9.00
Total due: $37.25
And the note:
“Thank you for a wonderful evening! Please settle at your earliest convenience. – Andy”
I stared at my phone in stunned silence.
Then I laughed. Hard. The kind of laugh that turns into coughing and possibly a headache. Because what else do you do when the man who insisted on driving you home decides courtesy is a billable service?
I screenshotted everything and sent it to Marcus with:
“Your boy sent me a receipt.”
Then I sat down with my coffee and crafted the perfect response. If Andy wanted to run his dating life like a small business, I was happy to return the energy.
I sent him $50 — the full total and then some — with a note:
“Thanks for itemizing your gentleman services. Here’s $37.25 plus a tip for door-opening, chair-pulling, and overall entertainment value. Please rate your customer experience five stars. Looking forward to never seeing you again.”
Then I blocked him.
Ten minutes later, Marcus called me, breathless with shock and regret. He and his entire pickleball group had seen the screenshots. Apparently, Andy had shown up that morning bragging about our date, convinced I was “wife material.”
His friends asked him why he billed me.
His response?
“Chivalry doesn’t pay for itself.”
The guys voted him out of the group on the spot. Pickleball court banishment. They didn’t want to be associated with him. And honestly, fair.
But the story didn’t end there.
A week later, while sipping coffee on my couch, I stumbled on a viral TikTok posted by a woman in another city — holding an itemized invoice from a man named Andy.
He’d done it before. Same categories. Same tone. This time with a new line item: “Cologne and grooming prep: $15.”
The comments section was savage.
“This is Uber, but for delusion.”
“He charged her for breathing his air.”
“Sir, this is not how chivalry works.”
“This man is one receipt away from charging for eye contact.”
And then more women came forward.
Invoices. “Emotional labor fees.” Mileage charges from multiple dates. One woman said he sent her a Venmo request titled “romantic overhead.”
Turns out Andy had been running a small accounting firm on women’s dating lives for over a year.
And plenty of women — like me — had ignored their initial red flags because he seemed polite, put-together, and considerate.
Andy wasn’t charming. He was performing. Every gesture was a transaction he planned to collect on later. His “kindness” had a price tag.
But here’s the thing: the viral mess forced a big conversation. Women started unpacking their own experiences — men who quietly kept score, expected compensation for basic courtesy, or framed dating as an investment with expected returns. Andy was just the extreme version of something many of us knew too well.
For me, the takeaway was sharp and clear:
A good man doesn’t turn decency into debt.
A decent man doesn’t bill you for breathing in his car.
And a genuinely respectful man doesn’t insist on driving you home just to send you a receipt for it in the morning.
I kept my dating rule after that — always take your own ride home. Regardless of how charming someone seems.
Marcus, meanwhile, has retired from matchmaking permanently.
Today, the whole thing is a hilarious story I drag out at dinner parties — a reminder that the universe has jokes, that red flags often come wrapped in politeness, and that sometimes the strangest men teach the clearest lessons.
Andy’s flowers died after a week. His invoice lives forever.
And the lesson is simple:
If a man treats chivalry like a service… don’t date him.
Block him, refund him, laugh about him — and move on.