A Blind Pipsqueak Tried To Hit Me With Insurance Fraud And Now We're Roommates

Chapter One

Let's say you walked around a local college campus and asked a hundred students why they're attending classes. Whether it be, "their parents threatened to kick them out of the house," or "they're there to obtain a piece of paper that claims they have knowledge," almost all the reasons have a root in money. Even the owners of the school are there to legally steal copious amounts of money from hopeful teens, distribute a microscopic amount to the teachers, then pocket the rest for the fifth yacht. All of that for a "proper education."

Stay in school, kids, so you can learn how to properly bend over and take it from your bosses.

Me? I skipped all that nonsense. I saw through that pyramid scheme worshiped by common society. After finishing my public education, I attended a trade school. Now, I understand some people reading this were so brainwashed growing up that they don't even know what an education in trade is. Heck, they didn't even teach most of you that there are alternative avenues for post high-school education. It's crazy how many people tell their children that if they don't go to college, that they'll end up working for a trash collecting company. When, if they'd actually learned about the world around them, they'd find out that most garbage collectors make more money with no education than most jobs requiring a bachelor's degree.

Phew... Anyway, a trade school is typically a school providing knowledge and training towards a specific line of work. So, not only do you not have to pay for useless, "mandatory classes," it has the capability of being a much shorter window to graduate the field of study. Myself, at the ripe ole age of 19, I completed my education in construction, and by 20, I achieved a second certificate in carpentry.

With all this cheaply gained knowledge in highly demanded and high paying fields, now at 25, you'd guess I'm living in a big house with a beautiful wife and a couple of kids, right? My friends, I have achieved the American dream we're all promised! I live in an overpriced apartment sitting on a plaid couch I'd found for sale at the thrift store.

How did someone set up for success end up in a situation like this?

Surprisingly enough, it's not because the American dream is burning in a literal dumpster fire right now, not that, that helps. No, my story starts with a pipsqueak named Maya, and her—

"Tucker!" What is it this time? It was typical that she'd yell my name while she's in her bedroom or the bathroom, and if it was the latter, she'd either just come up with an idea, or ran out of toilet paper. But, to my relief, I didn't have to get up to find out. Maya, the messy brown-haired girl measuring in at 4' 6", stumbled down the hall, guiding herself along the wall.

Quickening her pace, she hustled into the living room. I know I should say something. If I don't, she's going to get hurt again.

"Hey, be careful for once." Her habits were predictable, as was mine. She knew I'd been sitting on the couch. That's where I'm always at. But, no matter how many times she finds me in this spot, she'll never learn. If you make a beeline from the hall to the couch, there's a hump of warped wood under the carpet.

"I just came up with the best... woah!"

As expected, she fell again.

But no matter how many times this exact scenario plays out, I never move. Look, I'm not trying to play the hero and save her every time she requires rescuing. No, if I let her fall on the couch, she might break another spring, and my precious ass can't handle another metal coil popping out of the fabric. Not to mention, she'd probably blame me for her injury yet again, and hold another IOU, or as I like to call them, debt against me.

Not happening, I stayed put, and now the eager Maya awkwardly sat on my lap. First, she ran her hands up my body to my shoulders, then faced me nose to nose. Her light brown eyes are as cloudy as ever.

She slapped both her hands onto my cheeks and pulled my face closer, with that same self indulging smile she'd always wear when scheming.

"Tucker! I got it! This is the next big thing! We'll be outta this apartment in no time!"

"You're not committing insurance fraud again. I told you, I'm the last one." We'll get back to that later.

"Nooo... No. No. That's old game! Chump change compared to what I've got cooking! Tell me, can you smell what I'm cooking?!" she announced, wagging her finger in my face.

"I'm not helping you reopen your stock market account." After the bitcoin boom, and the GME squeeze, she thought it'd be a great idea to follow of bunch of risk takers on Reddit. Now there's probably a book called the quickest way to lose two months' worth of rent... for dummies. Needless to say, I closed the account and changed the password.

"No... and I'm still pissed about that, by the way. AMC is going to the moon!"

"And I'm still pissed about living off of ramen and peanut butter crackers for weeks." Well, I'm out of ideas. Even though I'm sure she'll tell me in the next few lines.

"Now, hear me out," she said, patting her PJ short covered thighs like a drum roll. "I open... an Only Fans!"

"Absolutely not." I immediately shoved her off into the open seat. I have to go anyway.

"Oh, come on! Everyone's doing it! And I'm sure blind girls are like a super fetish! Plus, who wouldn't want a piece of this short cake?"

Anyone could hear that she was waving her arms around motioning something sexual, but I refused to look. Instead, I grabbed my truck keys and left the apartment.

Now that it's quiet again, my story starts with a pipsqueak named Maya and her ridiculous schemes to make fast money.