Last winter, I was deep in my hookup era. You know the one—where you’re not looking for anything serious, you’re just cavorting, and collecting stories for the group chat. My dating profiles were clear about my intentions: “Not looking for a relationship. Just good company, good sex, and good vibes.”
Enter: Feeld. The app for people who want to be honest about wanting to be a little slutty. I met this man, let’s call him Key Guy, who was on the same page. He was cute, said all the right things, and our chat had the right mix of flirty and funny. After a couple of days of messaging back and forth, we decided to meet up.
The plan was simple: grab drinks at a bar, see if we vibed, and if we did, go back to his place. Totally standard logistics when you’re a seasoned New York dater with a healthy respect for late night subway schedules and post-sex exhaustion.
So I packed my “just in case we vibe” bag charger, makeup wipes, condoms, lube, and a change of clothes for the next day. Responsible slutting, you know?
The date was great. The conversation flowed, the drinks were good, and he was even cuter in person. We went back to his place, which was cozy, and he had an adorable cat. We had a great night. Mission accomplished.
Boom, the next morning, over bagels and coffee, he asked what my plans were for the day. I told him I had a few work calls to make and was planning to hit a coworking space before meeting a friend for lunch. That’s when things started to get weird.
He offered to let me stay at his apartment to work. Now, at first, the suggestion didn’t sound that strange. Except he was leaving for work. Meaning: This man I had met less than 24 hours ago was offering to leave me alone in his apartment. Alone. With his cat.
I don’t know what kind of energy I was giving off that said “trustworthy enough not to steal your cat and your TV,” but I wasn’t about to question it too hard. Coworking spaces cost money, and I’m not above a free desk and Wi-Fi in this economy. So I said yes. As he was getting ready to head out, he realized—oops—there was no way for me to lock up when I left without his keys. And before I could even say, “Oh no, that’s okay, I’ll just pack my things and go,” he pressed a spare set of keys into my hand like it was no big deal.
Now, I’ve lived in New York for over 30 years. I don’t hand my keys to anyone I’ve known for less than a week, let alone someone I’ve just slept with. I asked him three times if he was sure, and he just smiled and said, “It’s fine! It’s not like I’m not going to see you again.”
Mm-hmm. Famous last words.
I did my work, played with the cat, and when I left, I locked up, slid the keys into my bag, and went on with my day, completely unaware that those keys were about to become the main character in one of the strangest dating stories of my life.
Fast forward a month later. We’d texted a few times after that night, but it was clear he wasn’t interested in a round two. Which was fine, honestly. I wasn’t heartbroken. But there was one small problem: I still had his keys. So I texted him, reminding him that I had them and asking how he wanted to get them back. His response? He was going out of town for a week and asked if I’d mind cat sitting.
THE AUDACITY.
Not only was this man slow ghosting me, but he was also trying to turn me into his last-minute pet care solution. I politely declined. I was also heading out of town, so we agreed we’d reconnect to exchange the keys when we both got back. Except we didn’t.
Weeks passed. The keys were still in my bag, clanking around like a tiny reminder of this ridiculous man. Finally, I did what any chaotic Xennial woman would do: I took the story to Instagram. I told my followers about Key Guy, the one-night stand who trusted me with his home security, ghosted me, and then tried to get free cat care out of the deal. I asked what I should do with the keys.
The responses were chef’s kiss—half chaos, half common sense. Some said to mail them back. Others said to text him again, just to make it clear I wasn’t trying to rekindle anything, I just wanted to give him his keys. Most people, though, said to toss them and move on.
But here’s the thing: I’m a firm believer in karma. I couldn’t just throw them away without at least trying one more time to do the right thing. So I crafted one last polite-but-pointed text.
I offered him three options:
1. I could mail them back if he Venmo’d me the postage.
2. I could drop them off at his workplace when he wasn’t around.
3. I could leave them at my job, where we often hold keys for neighbors. Easy, safe, no contact required.
Three days later, he finally replied. “Wow, you’re really trying hard to return my keys.”
Duh. They’re your house keys.
He said he’d pick them up from my job sometime in the next week. And shock of shocks, he never showed up. At that point, I texted him one final time: “Hey, just letting you know your keys are getting evicted into the garbage next time I’m at work.” No response. And that was that.
But here’s the thing: I couldn’t just quietly toss them. This wasn’t your average ghosting. This ghost was a man who trusted me with his home, then disappeared, and left me with the physical embodiment of his poor decisions.
No, no, no. A disappearing act of this magnitude deserved a little ceremony—a little flair. A little razzle dazzle. So I channeled all of my chaotic Xennial energy into a project. I made a tiny cardboard coffin, placed the keys inside, and held a funeral for them in my Instagram stories. Complete with a Sarah McLachlan-serenaded walk to the garbage.
I’d like to think I learn a little something from every date gone wrong. In this case, I learned never to take possession of someone’s keys unless I’m very sure I’ll be seeing them again. If nothing else, I’m always going to have a good time with an awkward situation, and that may be the true lesson here. Sometimes people ghost you. Sometimes you spend way too much time making a tiny key coffin out of cardboard. But if you can laugh about it and spin it into a wild story, you’ll live to date another day.
Dirty Lola is an award-winning sex educator, dildo slinger, storyteller, and host of the podcast So You Want To Try, known for smashing stigma, spreading joy, and turning awkward dating moments into laugh-out-loud wisdom.
This is hilarious and made me smile during a particularly stressful day of work.
This is exactly what I needed to read before heading off to Jury Duty. Bye bye, fuck boy's keys!!