I just had the ‘man of honor’ conversation. He’s like the previously bitched about ‘Do The Right Thing’ guy (here’s that story) but the difference is…HA… joking. There is no difference.
Let’s roll a transcript:
Me: You’ve been telling me, for the last twenty minutes, you’re a man of honor.
Him: No question.
Me: For that same twenty minutes you’ve been trying to beat me out of fifty bucks by any means you could think of.
Him: That is not true. I would never do that.
Me: Really? Then pay me what you owe me.
Him: Oh, well, you know, it’s that. . .
Edited for sanity and brevity. You’re welcome.
Me: Stop. I’m sick of hearing it. We went through this two months ago. What makes you think the outcome will be different?
Him: No, we didn’t.
I hand him a piece of paper.
Me: You don’t remember this transaction?
The paper, signed and dated by him, states, on his honor, that he won’t be a douche bag (or words more fitting a legalese document). He looks at it.
Him: I never signed that.
Me: Very honorable.
I point behind me to the camera.
Me: Would you like me to roll the tape of you signing it?
Him: Blusters and carries on.
Me: Listen, you can take your man of honor shit and fuck off.
Him: You can’t talk to me like that!
Me: So it’s fair for you to call me a fucking asshole, your exact words of less than two minutes ago, but I’m sure you’re having selective memory about that, but I can’t tell you I’m sick of dealing with your conniving bullshit? I guess the rules are different for a man of honor, huh?
Him: Carries on some more.
Me: Knock off your bullshit, we both know you’re full of shit and won’t be happy until you get away with something. So let me tell you what’s going to happen, you’re going to take your honorable ass out of my building, never even drive past again, and the next time you hear from us it will be in the representation of a rather dishonorable debt collector.
Him: Why do you have to be such an asshole?
Me: I am but a mirror.