My body rejected debt


Last night my buddy Adam took me to Raines Law Room in the Flat Iron District. It’s a speakeasy, which unlike real speakeasies, you can find on yelp.
It’s a beautiful place that reminds me of an old time dining car on the Orient Express. We went to the garden. It was one of those 90/90 nights in New York, 90 degrees and 90 percent humidity.
While sipping on my Paper Plane – a combination of bourbon, Aperol, lemon juice and i think heroin – I managed to drop my debit card on the floor. Somehow I realized it was missing and the staff was very helpful, even took out a flashlight and help me look. I found it.
After playing fancy big boys at the nice bar, we decided to go somewhere where the base drink isn’t $14. Olde Town Bar a few blocks away is one of the oldest bars in New York City. So a good name.
I started a tab with my debit card. When we tried to close out, the bartender couldn’t find my card. Eventually he realized he gave it to someone else and they signed off on it and took it with them. While he’s explaining this I called Chase and had it canceled.
Not a big deal, I could just go to a Chase now and pick up a new one. Or should I? What was Zeus trying to tell me by taking away my debit card twice?

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