Phone Credit Guy took a liking to me from the very first moment that I started working at my very first job, and back then, my naïve ass just thought that he wanted to be friends… just like he was friends with all the other girls that worked there. Now, with hindsight and wisdom on my side, I can see that that “friendship” and the almost-relationship we had was nothing more than grotesque.
It started off completely innocently: he’d walk me home after the late shift, so I didn’t have to go by myself at 10pm at night. He lived not far from me, so it just made sense. I’d known him for about six months at that point, and I’d worked with him almost every day. He wasn’t scary, weird, or anything like that; just a lonely, middle-aged guy who didn’t really fit in with any other social group. I suppose that should’ve been a warning, really.
One day, on the way home from work, PCG (Phone Credit Guy) asked me to text him later on that night, after I’d watched some show.
“I’ve got no credit on my phone,” I told him.
It was back in the day when texts would cost 10 pence to 25 pence, depending on the network, and you had to get £5 and upwards scratch-off vouchers from a local shop.
“I’ll get you some,” he said. “I’ve got your number, so I’ll just text you the code.”
“No, no, you don’t have to do that. Don’t be silly,” I said.
Later that night, I checked my phone… and there it was: a text with a £25 phone credit code. I’d buy £5 vouchers, so having £25 on my phone made me feel like a millionaire, quite frankly.
From that point onwards, PCG would top up my phone every single time it was low. He wouldn’t even check in with me; he’d just send those voucher codes on a regular basis, all so I could text him every now and then.
I suppose it wouldn’t have been so strange if I weren’t a teen… and he weren’t in his mid-to-late forties. And I looked *YOUNG* back then, too. I basically looked 12 years old until I was 21. Even the bouncers of bars that let you in without ID, wouldn’t let me in.
PCG hadn’t ever tried anything with me, though. I didn’t find it weird because I had friends of all ages, and PCG wasn’t weird. He didn’t act weird. There were no date requests, no dinner requests, no come-back-to-mine requests. He wasn’t ever handsy with me, nor did he ever try to kiss me. I don’t even think he wanted to hug me. He just wanted to talk to me in the evenings and hang out sometimes – and it was hardly a hardship. I enjoyed his company, and I appreciated the company on the walks home.
Work colleagues asked if we were dating… always with a look of horror on their faces. It almost felt like we were: an emotional relationship without any intimacy – or even touching – involved.
“He’s just paying for your phone credit?” my friends would ask.
“Yes.”
“And he walks you home?”
“Yes.”
“Is he paying you for your company?”
Honestly, I didn’t think it was that, either. He just wanted to talk. That’s what I thought, anyway. But then, Phone Credit Guy apparently told two of the people we worked with that we were dating. He denied it when I asked.
I apparently had a relationship for a few months that I didn’t know about, which is definitely a new one for me.
In case you were wondering, I changed my number, never looked at or spoke to Phone Credit Guy again, and not long after, I changed jobs (not related to him.)
Maybe he had been a weirdo (or a bit of a nonce) all along?
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Number 5: The Fireman.
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
You can read all about my disastrous dating history, right from the beginning, right here: Table of Dating Contents.
Alternatively, why not have a little peek around here:
