I see credit cards all day long. All the time. And the other night was the first time one ever really stood out to me. One of my guests–a woman who drank cheap chardonnay spritzers made with Perrier and lime–paid for she and her friend’s dinner with a black American Express card.

I noticed it was all black with very little ink. I showed it to another one of the waitresses. I asked if she’d ever seen one like it. “It’s Mrs. Smith’s. She is the wife of this hot shot defense attorney, she eats here all the time,” she quickly informed me. I ran the pretty black card for the $60 amount and slid it into the pouch of the black check book. Later I started to wonder about the black card. My Dad once worked part-time for American Express and I never heard anything about those.

Thanks to the lovely interweb, I now know that the black card is known as the Centurion card, a card with no limit. Also, I learned how very incredibly rich that lady I waited on is. Here are the perks associated with having the invite-only card from American Express’ own site. Seems there is a bit of urban legend associated with the black card, which is covered thoroughly over at Snopes. You should totally read it all, but for those of your who don’t so much follow directions, here is a pretty good summary of what Snopes says:

Yet for all of its snob appeal, the Centurion is still a thing of mystery. Though we located numerous references to it on the American Express web site, nothing we came across explicitly outlined its eligibility requirements or benefits. The card cannot be applied for; it is either proffered by AmEx or it is not. As to how the company decides whom it should offer the preferred plastic to, according to American Express their applications for Centurion cards are generally provided to customers who annually charge $150,000 or more to other AmEx cards. Centurion cards are not offered to anyone who has been a cardholder for less than a year.

Here is a sample of things “purchased” with a Centurion card:

* One cardholder wanted to locate and purchase the horse ridden by Kevin Costner in Dances with Wolves. The horse was located in a stud ranch in Mexico, purchased and delivered to Europe.

* Another cardholder wanted a handful of sand from the Dead Sea for a child’s school project on the Holy Land. Someone was dispatched by motorcycle to the shores of the Dead Sea to obtain the sand, which was couriered back to London.

* Yet another cardholder required American Express to organize a wedding, including designing the wedding card, drawing maps to direct guests to the banquet, renting tuxedos and shoes for guests, and preparing the hotel room with a jacuzzi for the wedding night.

* And for another cardholder who aspired to be an actress and wanted to be part of the crew of a weekly soap opera on TV, American Express contacted the director and arranged for an audition.

Anyway, she gave me a generous 20% tip and was nothing but nice the entire time. She could totally buy me with her Black American Express card, but on her way out the door she kindly patted my back.

I used to live just a few blocks from where he worked. I would go there sometimes for Get Back Juice* and a little people watching. Occasionally lunch. Once when I was about to order this guy with fantastic blue eyes asked if I was Brittney. Startled, I looked behind me for the candid camera. Once I was sure no one was there I agreed that I was. “You’re a good writer,” he replied, and all the sudden I felt really confused.

He informed me he read my weblog from time to time. That was the first–and last–time anyone had recognized me from my site. I already sort of liked the way he smiled at me, so after that day I stole a few extra glances.

A few weeks later I came in for a salad when he plopped down across the table from me. Finally. After afternoons of us sitting at tables apart, he on his break, me having an espresso. We began conversation easily. It was all about his job and my job and newspapers and MTSU and music, I think a little bit. We also talked about movies. We talked about how we both love to see independents, which you have to drive the 30 miles to Nashville in order to see. And then it was time for me to go to work.

I changed clothes at work, told a couple of people I might have a crush on the coffee shop dude, then left after a meager 6 hours. I left at around 10 p.m. but noticed halfway home that I left my shoes and a piece of cheesecake at work. I could have lived without the shoes, but the cheescake I had to have so I went back. I parked my car in the front lot, which I never did, and ran in for my forgotten things. When I came back out I was balancing all my shit when I heard a loud, “Hey!”

It was the coffee shop dude. He came over to my car and I kind of don’t remember at all what he actually said, or what I actually said, but that somehow after some noises came out of our respective mouths we’d agreed to a date. In Nashville, to see some good documentary or foreign film.

And I was excited.

But this story gets way better after I learned about the VCB’s personal circumstances that evening. Turns he was kicking himself for not asking me to a movie while we were talking earlier at the coffee shop. He thought about it as he worked all night, helping move a frozen keg that his boss had stupidly stuck in the freezer. Long story short, the VCB ended up with beer-soaked hair. Which, it turns out, did not stop him from taking a trip by Outback where I used to work, to see if I might be there. He said he was just curious, and that he’s made a bet with himself. That if for some reason when he drove by, I was out there, he’d stop and ask me out. Which, he says, was his way of making sure it wouldn’t happen. Because, seriously, what are the odds?

Which makes the part about me making a second trip back to the restaurant to pick up shoes and cheesecake quite the coincidence. Had I not gone back I’d have missed him, especially since I never use the entrance where he was parked.

A week or so later came the first date. Three hours and a bottle of wine at the Indian place made us miss Spellbound, which I still haven’t seen. We saw the very commercial 28 Days Later instead.

Otherwise, it was a fucking perfect night.

*Coffee