Story Sent in by Graham:
I met Audrey online. She said that she was a "found art" sculptor, which meant, by her definition, that she would take discarded junk and assemble it into something "beautiful," as she put it. She sent me a photo of her standing next to one such piece of art. It was tall and well-made, and included tires, scrap metal, and wiring.
"That one took me six months to plan and execute," she told me.
I was so impressed that before our date, I asked her to bring her portfolio. Instead, she invited me to visit her studio space after our dinner together.
Dinner went well. We predominately talked about her artwork. Afterward, I followed her to her studio, adjoining a local college.
We went in and she showed me her works. They all looked like glued-together piles of filthy junk — nothing like the first impressive piece that she showed me.
I asked her, "Where's that first piece, the tall one in that first photo that you sent me?"
She replied, "Oh, that's not mine. That's some other guy's."
"You told me it was yours. You said it took you six months."
She shrugged. "Oops."
I didn't say much else after that, and I didn't have a chance, because soon after, I backed into a precariously balanced steel sculpture that smashed to the ground, breaking into three pieces.
Audrey gasped and yelled, "You idiot! That isn't mine!"
I bent down to try and pick up the pieces, but she yelled in my face, "You ruined it! Get out! Get out! Did you hear me? Get out!"
She was in a terrible, shrieking state. I left and never heard from her again.