C-3PO, on the other hand, had a big wad of cash sitting on the bar, all willy-nilly. I believe, and to this day am telling myself, that this was his tip for the bartender. I was prepared to do something that I am not proud of, but served a greater good. The bartender would get a tip from me instead of him, or, worst-case scenario, the geek would be two dollars shy of his next Guitar Hero purchase. The universe would rebalance.
When his friend got up to go to the bathroom and the geek was watching the TV, I scuttled two sawbucks from his pile and put 'em in front of me. Yes, this was a low moment, but then again, chance favors the prepared mind, right?
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I scuttled out of there before he noticed, feeling kinda cloak-and-dagger. That didn't last long, though. I went home and started to feel funny ... some strange new emotion that can only be described as regret. In retrospect, this was a cowardly, dishonest act on my part. Poirot never resorted to lying and cheating to reach the ends he wanted.
Hey, book guy, I apologize. I owe you an "I'm sorry," or at least a beer. Heck, if you play your cards right, you might even get lucky. Only this time, I get to pick the neighborhood.
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