Really, Dude?

Back in 2005, I worked at a convenience store.

I also had a girlfriend whose family had serious money.

Her father was a very successful attorney. They lived in this enormous house that was probably worth around five million dollars, which in 2005 seemed like an unbelievable amount of money. They had expensive cars, a beautiful home, all of it.

And then there was me.

Working behind the register at a convenience store.

My girlfriend never made me feel bad about it. She actually came to the store all the time just to hang out with me while I worked.

But apparently, somewhere inside my young male brain, I had decided that because her family had money, I needed to look like I had money too.

One day I found a website selling fake Rolexes.

Not just fake Rolexes.

According to the website, these were apparently such incredible replicas that "nobody could tell the difference."

I believed them. The watch was $300.

Now, $300 wasn't exactly pocket change for someone working at a convenience store, but I convinced myself this was an investment in looking successful.

I ordered it.

When that thing arrived, you would've thought Rolex had personally delivered it from Switzerland.

I wore it everywhere. And I didn't wear it quietly either.

I wore that watch with the confidence of a man who had just walked into a jewelry store, written a check for $25,000 and told the salesman to keep the change.

I would casually rest my wrist on things.

The counter.

The steering wheel.

Anywhere the light might catch it.

Nobody had asked about my watch. That didn't matter. I knew it was there.

Then one day my girlfriend was hanging out with me behind the register.

A regular customer came in. He knew me pretty well. We're talking, and suddenly he notices my wrist.

"Nice watch, dude."

Finally.

The moment I'd been waiting for.

I looked down at it like I'd almost forgotten I was wearing a Rolex.

"Thanks."

Then he said something I wasn't prepared for.

"Let me see it."

No problem.

Remember, the website had specifically told me nobody could tell it was fake.

And obviously, websites selling counterfeit watches were known for their honesty.

I took it off and proudly handed it to him. He looked at it. Turned it over. Looked at it again.

Then he looked directly at me. There was a pause.

"REALLY, DUDE?"

My heart dropped.

He knew.

Immediately.

This indestructible $300 masterpiece of Swiss deception had survived approximately four seconds of inspection.

And my rich girlfriend was standing a few feet away.

Luckily, she was distracted.

I looked at him and began communicating in a form of sign language that does not exist in any recognized language on Earth.

My eyes were saying:

"PLEASE."

My head was saying:

"DO NOT DO THIS TO ME."

My hands were probably saying:

"I WILL GIVE YOU FREE SNACKS FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE."

He looked at me.

Then he looked toward my girlfriend.

He understood.

A little smile appeared on his face.

He handed the watch back.

"Nice watch."

And walked away.

I wanted to crawl underneath the register.

That night, I was lying in bed thinking about what happened, and eventually I started laughing.

I had spent $300 trying to convince people I had enough money to spend thousands. And the funniest part was that my girlfriend had never asked me to do that.

She already knew where I worked.

She knew I wasn't rich.

She came and sat at a convenience store just because she wanted to spend time with me.

I was the only person I was trying to impress.

That stupid watch actually taught me something.

I decided that night that I never wanted to pretend to have something I hadn't earned.

If one day I wanted the real watch, I'd work for it. If I couldn't afford it, I wouldn't wear it.

I'd rather have something inexpensive that was mine than something expensive that required me to pretend.

I don't know what happened to that fake Rolex.

But more than twenty years later, I still remember the exact look on that guy's face when he turned it over.

No jeweler.

No magnifying glass.

No sophisticated authentication.

Just four seconds.

A look directly into my eyes.

And two words that destroyed my entire career as a fake millionaire:

"Really, dude?"