Twelve Years Later, She Bought the Coffee

What is this? The Sin Bin is The Valley Signal's advice column for people who don't deserve it. The sin bin is the penalty box, where you go when you've screwed up. You write in with the mess you've made of your life, or your neighbor's, and Sully tells you what you already know but you're too soft to admit. No soft problems. No participation trophies. No closure. Every story has a pylon, the useless person standing there while the play moves around them. If you can't spot yours, it's you. Keep it short or get benched, and send it to [email protected].

Dear Sully: I got an $80 Venmo from an ex-girlfriend for "coffee." I haven't spoken to her for 12 years, and I'm married with kids. Is there some sort of moral dilemma here? Should I return the money? I think I'll keep it. Should I request more money from her?

Caffeinated in Victor

Buddy, there is absolutely a moral dilemma here, and fortunately for you, it is not whether to keep the $80.

You keep the $80.

Twelve years is beyond the statute of limitations for asking follow-up questions about surprise coffee money. This woman has had three presidential administrations to reconsider the transaction. She located your Venmo account, entered $80, typed "coffee," and hit send. That's not an accident. That's a grant.

The moral dilemma begins with your next sentence:

"Should I request more money from her?"

Jesus Christ, kid.

You were handed a mysterious eighty-dollar bill from the universe and immediately started wondering whether the universe had a rewards program.

This is how people end up explaining screenshots.

Right now, you have the cleanest possible situation. An ex-girlfriend you haven't spoken to since approximately the invention of Instagram sent you $80. You did nothing. You said nothing. You didn't ask for it. You can buy coffee for a month and continue being a married father whose most interesting romantic development this week was apparently an ACH transfer.

The minute you request another $80, though, you've entered the game.

Now there's banter.

Now there's a joke.

Now there's a notification on her phone saying you requested money.

Now, somewhere down the road, your wife looks over and says, "Why are you requesting $80 from a woman you dated twelve years ago?"

And you've gotta stand there in your kitchen like a golden retriever that knocked over the trash and explain your sophisticated financial theory about recurring ex-girlfriend coffee revenue.

Don't build yourself a courtroom when nobody has accused you of anything.

And don't message the ex asking what it's for, either. That's how this whole stupid machine gets turned on. Maybe it's an inside joke she remembered. Maybe she owed you money from 2014. Maybe she meant to send it to somebody else. Maybe she was drinking wine and suddenly remembered you bought every coffee for two years.

Who cares?

If she wants it back because it was a mistake, she'll ask. Then send it back. Easy.

Until then, the money is sitting in Venmo under the internationally recognized legal doctrine of Finders Keepers, Ex-Girlfriend Division.

But requesting more?

No.

That's the pylon move.

You are currently standing safely outside a situation that does not exist, staring at it, wondering whether you could somehow get inside it and make it stupid.

Go buy your wife coffee.

Actually, buy the whole family breakfast. When she asks why, tell her the truth:

"An ex-girlfriend from twelve years ago randomly Venmoed me eighty bucks for coffee."

That is objectively funny. Everybody gets pancakes. Your ex unknowingly sponsors Saturday breakfast. The money is gone. The story ends.

That's a tremendous outcome.

Do not improve upon it.

Sully's Verdict: Keep the $80. Don't request another dime. Never turn free pancakes into evidence.