Thanks for the honey


I’ve been known to attract the weirdos.

If there is a space next to me on a bus, a weirdo will sit there. Even if there are 20 other seats available.

I tell myself it’s my stunning good looks and positive aura that invite people to harass me. I must just look like a really friendly person.

Or maybe, just maybe.. it’s because I look like like a weirdo too.

Far more realistic.

Either way, I used to consider myself a great judge of character. Or at least be able to pick out the weirdos from the normos.

That was until the honey guy.

I absolutely loved my waitressing job in Auckland.

The day of my first shift, I almost pooped myself when I walked in to the restaurant and was confronted with ten stunning, blonde, model-like 20 year olds introducing themselves to me as my new co-workers. I was preparing myself for months of bitchiness and self loathing.

But I was wrong. They were wonderful. All of them.

First Impressions

It was a typical Friday evening in St Heliers. The restaurant was rammed and the atmosphere buzzing.

A lovely elderly couple and their son occupied one of my tables. When taking their order I noticed their British accents.

They began to tell me how they were here visiting their son who had moved over to New Zealand seven years ago.

“Wow, that’s amazing! I’m so jealous,” I said to the son.

“Yeah it’s pretty great,” He said with a smile.

I left the table to place the food order and continued with my busy shift.

Later on, as they left, the son approached me and handed me their bill with his phone number on it.

“I know how hard it is to be in a new country with no friends,” He said.

A little presumptuous.. I had plenty of friends thanks!

“A group of friends and I are heading to a comedy gig in town tomorrow night and we have a spare ticket. Would you like to come?”

He was only being nice. What was the worst that could happen? I thanked him for his generosity and accepted his invitation. You can never have too many friends, right?

The longest evening of my life

I arrived at the pub where we’d agreed to meet and was surprised at how quiet it was. Especially for a Saturday night.

Confused, I checked my phone for the time and that was when I heard my name being called.

I looked up to see the honey guy, alone, holding two drinks.

“Where is everyone?” I said as I accepted the warm Sol he handed me. He’d must of been there a while.

“Oh, they can’t make it.” He said matter of factly.

He reached in to his pocket and pulled out two tickets for the comedy gig. And that was when it hit me. This punk had tricked me in to a date!

I felt sick. Overwhelmed with awkwardness.

The only thing to do, was to get very drunk.

Just when I thought it was over..

The gig ended. I couldn’t tell you if the comedians were funny or not. I just wanted to go home. I was fuming that I had been duped.

“I’ll give you a lift home,” He said.

He had only had one beer for the entire evening.

I was pleasantly tipsy.

“Thanks,” I said.

Probably not the greatest idea. But I was a waitress trying to save up enough money to travel the whole of New Zealand, have enough money to book a flight home later in the year and still have a social life. Times were tough. A free lift is way better than forking out $20 for a taxi.

So here began the painful drive home.

“Would you mind if we stopped at a friends house? He’s having a moving in party. We won’t stay long,”

Trying not to be rude – this guy had paid for my comedy gig ticket – I agreed.

“There is a card in the glove compartment. Would you mind writing it for me?” He said as we approached the motorway.

“You want me to write your friends card?”

“Yeah, his name is Leon. Sign it from both of us,”

“Ah, Leon, we go way back,” I said purely as a joke.

I’ve never claimed to be a funny drunk. But the silence that followed led me to believe this guy was not amused. He actually wanted me to sign this dudes card.

‘To Leon,

Happy moving in! 

I’m sorry you don’t know me and I’m writing your card, but I’m scared that *honey man* will kill me if I don’t.


Meg and *honey man*’

I giggled to myself as I sealed the card in the envelope. It was then that I realised I was only half joking with what I wrote.

‘It will be fantastic evidence for if I go missing,’ I thought.

We arrived at the ‘party’ and I almost laughed out loud. This night seriously couldn’t have gotten any worse.

We walked in to dead silence. A group of about eight people were sat in a circle on the floor all eating chocolate cake.

Introductions were made and I was offered a piece.

“No thanks, diet!” I said patting my belly.

One guy began tapping a hollow box to break the silence. To which the guests started swaying to the beat.

I decided I’d had enough. I wanted to be home. I had been texting my room mate frequently updating her on my whereabouts and what was happening.

“Tell him to bring you home now! Or I’m calling the police!”

I turned to honey man and yawned.

“I’m really tired, do you mind taking me home?”

We said our goodbyes and headed out the door.

Thank GOD it’s over. I couldn’t wait to get home and have a BIG glass of wine.

Nope. Still not over.

I noticed he missed the turning for my road.

“I live down there!” I said twisting in my seat, longing for even a glimpse of our house.

“Oh I’m just going to nip to mine. I need the toilet.”

Lamest excuse I have ever heard. If this guy seriously thought he was getting lucky tonight, he was even more delusional than I first thought.

He pulled up outside his house and got out of the car. I kept my seatbelt firmly in place as he opened my door.

“Do you want to come in for a minute?”

“No thanks, I’m fine here.” I said imagining the dungeon he had under his house where he keept all his victims.

“Do you like honey?” he said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you like honey?”

‘Oh my God..’ I thought ‘that is what they’re going to find my lifeless, naked body covered in!’

“I can take it or leave it,” I said wondering where this conversation was going.

He turned away and walked inside.

I grabbed my bag, undid my seat belt and was ready to make a run for it when he came back to the car holding a tiny pot of honey. I mean, just your bog standard honey. Shop bought.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile.

He got back in to the car and drove me to the corner of my road.

I waved goodbye and power walked as quickly as I could to the house. Promising myself I would never, ever, ever go on – or be tricked in to –  another date. Ever!

True Love

So there you have it. That was how I met my husband, Steve.

(Jokes.. obviously)

That’s a much better story.


2 thoughts on “Thanks for the honey

  1. Did you ever see him again…..not in a date way but did he come back to your restaurant?? I feel like I’m watching a TV series but I can’t wait for the next episode!!


    • He did.. The chefs had a lot of fun whenever they saw him come back.
      I immediately regretted telling them! They would hand me honeycomb and say it was for his table.
      I also used to hear my name being called outside my bedroom window. But I’m pretty sure that was just work colleagues trying to freak me out!


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