Premediated SCHMUCK MOVE
To understand what a SCHMUCK MOVE is, you need to be somewhat knowledgeable of Yiddish. Yiddish is an historical language that originated in the 9th century amongst the Ashkenazi Jews in Central Europe. Literally translated, SCHMUCK was the name given to the foreskin of the penis that is cut off during circumcision. So, when someone calls you a SCHMUCK, they are in essence saying that you a useless piece of discarded penis skin! Yiddish words have trickled down into our modern world and become part of our language. Over the centuries, SCHMUCK has been used as a counterpart for the word penis, so a SCHMUCK MOVE means it’s a Dick Move, a Loser Move or a Jerk Move….
Okay, that’s enough of a history lesson, on to the story about a SCHMUCK MOVE…
Last weekend, when I was at the Giuseppe Franco Salon getting my hair blown out by my fabulous hairdresser and friend, the very charming and engaging owner of the salon—Giuseppe Franco himself—came over to chat. The recently divorced Giuseppe started to talk about dating, and how things had changed since he was last single. Of course, I always have a wealth of information on this topic, and as such, we started to banter away. I told him that most men in LA had lost the art of chivalry, and it was rare to find a gentleman who really knew how to treat a girl right.
My observation prompted Giuseppe to tell me the story of a female friend of his who went on a first date with a man and, at the end of the date, he looked at her and said ‘So, umm, should we split the bill?’ Giuseppe said he told his friend that if a guy does not pick up the tab, especially on a first date, then he is a SCHMUCK, and he advises all of his female friends to dump a guy when she see his first SCHMUCK MOVE.
Unfortunately, his friend was attracted to this man and really liked him, so she didn’t heed Giuseppe’s advice. On the second date, she ended up sleeping over. The following morning they went for a walk along Venice Beach, basking in the after-glow of hot sex. When they stopped to buy ice cream cones, and as he took his first lick of the soft-serve vanilla ice cream, he said, ‘Hey, can you pay, I forgot my wallet at home.’ Again, a classless SCHMUCK MOVE, and for this girl, the last time this guy was going to have an opportunity to make another SCHMUCK MOVE on her.
We all laughed and then my hairdresser-friend said, “Janell, tell Giuseppe about what happened to you last Saturday night.”
Janell’s tale of a premediated SCHMUCK MOVE
Last Saturday, a man I had met once before was in town from the east coast. I had met him a year prior at an event I’d attended, where I was seated next to him at dinner. We became Facebook friends and I got to know him via social media over the past year. He often flirted with me on Facebook; and even though I shut down his flirtatious attempts, he still seemed interested in making an attempt at friendship. He held himself to be a wealthy, educated, and connected individual; one who dabbled in politics and knew high-profile politicians. Even if this man lived in LA, although he had been interesting when I first met him, he would not be my type as I wasn’t physically attracted to him at all. Let’s just say he was a little too short, a little too wide, and a little too ‘Goombah Italiano’ for me.
When he knew he was going to be in LA for a few days, he reached out, saying that he would love to see me again. I couldn’t commit to anything too far in advance, as I had been sick with the flu, and told him to text me when he was in town. He, of course, texted me once he landed, telling me that he really, really, really wanted to meet up. I reasoned he was an interesting and connected person, and I enjoyed his social media posts, so what could be the harm in meeting up for a cocktail. So, I shifted my schedule around to accommodate his request, and agreed to meet him for an early drink at Craig’s at 6 pm.
On Saturday, he texted me at 5 pm to confirm I was still meeting up with him, and of course, being that I am not a flake, I confirmed and asked him to grab a seat for me at the bar if he got there before me. I was rushing around like mad to make the 6 pm start time, and by the time I arrived at Craig’s, I was starving as I hadn’t had time to eat lunch.
As we made chit-chat, I asked him if he wanted to split an appetizer. He informed me that, as he arrived before me, he had already eaten an order of Pigs in a Blanket, and was on his second basket of free bread, so he wasn’t hungry at all. (Ergo the reason for the little too wide bit in the above paragraph.) So I ordered a hamburger and a glass of wine.
Two hours later, after 2 strained hours of conversation—when I realized that I must have been drinking heavily at the event I met him at a year prior when I found him to be an interesting conversationalist—I was happy that he was ready to head back to his hotel, as even my natural ‘gift of gab’ was exhausting me trying to keep the conversation going. He then asked the bartender for the bill.
When the bill came, I looked at him and said “How much do I owe you?” Of course, me thinking he would likely be a gentleman and offer to pay, or at least buy me a drink, almost fell off my bar stool when he said, “I asked for separate tabs.”
Okay, so it wasn’t a date, and I had made it clear to him that we were just friends, but after he had all but begged me to find a way to meet up with him, I was truly shocked that he didn’t even offer to buy me a glass of wine. I mean, I had rearranged my schedule, and had gone out of my way to meet him. I had sat for two hours listening to him talk about his glamorous and ritzy life, but always trying to be a classy girl, had offered to pay my part. I couldn’t figure out why I felt so irritated by this whole adventure, and I really couldn’t put my finger on why I was so upset about the whole night. And that is when Giuseppe, who had been listening to my tale of woe, piped up and said “What a SCHMUCK, what a SCHUCK MOVE.”
And Giuseppe continued his explanation…
“This guy planned ahead of time that he wasn’t going to pay. It’s like he was driving over to meet ya, and thought to himself, I ain’t gonna pay for this dumb broad tonight, and so he got there early and set himself up to have his own tab. The guy’s a Dick… what a SCHMUCK MOVE. It was a premediated SCHMUCK MOVE on his part, what a loser!”
I realized that Giuseppe had, in his own ‘guy way’, explained to me what I had been trying to vocalize but couldn’t figure out or understand about why I was pissed off. I didn’t mind paying for my burger and glass of wine; I do it all the time anyway. It was just the whole premediated, separate tab, cheap–ass move on his part; a cheap-ass move that left me feeling like I had been bitch-slapped. I felt, umm, disrespected. Does that make any sense?
And do you know what? He probably thinks I am great. I was nice, I paid, I held it all together as gracefully as I could. But… Guess what? That one move on his part showed me his true colors, no wonder he is still single! He’s a cheap-ass! This one seemingly stupid SCHMUCK MOVE on his part had changed my impression of him, FOREVER.
So the moral of this SCHMUCK MOVE story is….
- Manners are more important than money. I don’t care if you are rich or you are poor, but don’t sit there and talk about your ‘society lifestyle’ and all the famous people you know, and the ritzy part of town you live in, and then act like a cheap fucking loser.
- Social media friends are not friends. They are people who watch your life through the looking glass you paint. You know who your real friends are and, for all I know, this man was not only cheap, but a fraud. I really learned my lesson here, and trust me, will never do this again. Even though I initially met him in real life, I truly did not know anything about him other than the words he said online and the pictures he posted.
- Being a lady, acting classy is always the way to go in life. Never assume what someone will or won’t do. As the Girl Scouts learn early on, ‘Always be Prepared’: Always have your own way to pay, your own transportation, and your own exit strategy….SCHMUCK MOVE, exit stage left!
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