I drove home and stayed up half the night formulating a plan. It had to be shocking. It had to be a flawless rage bait trap.

The next morning at 10:00 AM, I sent him a text. I had to channel every ounce of acting ability I possessed to make it sound entirely natural and completely oblivious.

“Hey Brad! I am SO incredibly sorry about last night. My neighbor called with a pipe emergency at my condo and I had to run out the front door before you even got back from the restroom. I feel terrible leaving you with that massive bill! To make it up to you, I’d love to take you out tonight to that new rooftop seafood place downtown. Totally my treat, I insist. I’ll even send an Uber Black to pick you up so you don’t have to drive.”

I hit send and waited. I knew what kind of man he was. A normal person would be confused, but a greedy scammer would see an opportunity for round two.

Less than five minutes later, my phone buzzed.

“Hey! No worries at all, I totally understand emergencies. Tonight sounds great. That seafood place is amazing. Here is my address for the Uber.”

He was actually doing it. He was so incredibly smug and arrogant that he genuinely believed he had scammed me out of a $300 steak and was now being rewarded with a free premium seafood dinner. He truly thought I was the most gullible woman on the planet.

At 6:30 PM, I ordered the Uber to his apartment complex. But I didn’t set the destination for the downtown seafood restaurant.

Instead, I scoured Google Maps for a location that was as inconvenient and remote as legally possible. I found a decaying, abandoned strip mall located exactly 45 miles outside of the city limits, situated on a dark, desolate highway with no sidewalks, no streetlights, and absolutely zero cell service. It was a solid hour-long drive in the wrong direction.

I watched the little black car icon on the Uber app pull up to his building. A minute later, I got a text from Brad: “In the car! See you soon.”

I replied: “Can’t wait!”

For the next fifty minutes, I sat on my couch with a glass of wine, happily tracking the GPS dot as it drove him further and further out of the city, deep into the rural suburbs, and finally onto the dark, empty highway.

Right as the Uber pulled into the gravel parking lot of the abandoned strip mall, I opened the app and canceled the ride.

Because I canceled mid-trip, the driver’s app immediately ended the route, forcing the driver to drop his passenger off exactly where they were. A few seconds later, my phone started exploding.

Brad: “Hey, the driver just kicked me out? Where am I?”

Brad: “This isn’t the restaurant. It’s pitch black out here.”

Brad: “Hello?? My driver left. There’s nothing out here. Where are you?”

I read the texts, savoring every single frantic notification. I took a screenshot of the $300 receipt from the steakhouse the night before, attached it to the chat, and typed my final message.

“Hope you brought your windbreaker, it gets cold out there at night. Consider the $300 dinner paid in full. Good luck walking home.”

I hit send, immediately blocked his number, unmatched him on the app, and took a long, peaceful sip of my wine. I never heard from Brad again, but I like to imagine him standing in the gravel of that abandoned parking lot, finally realizing that the most expensive meal of his life came with a very, very long walk.