Our class reunion this past weekend took place in the firehall in my hometown. Conveniently enough, there is a bar attached with a little pass-through window for ordering drinks. At the beginning of the evening, during the scheduled “social hour,” drinks were easy enough to get and a domestic bottle of beer cost the whopping sum of $1.25. As the night went on, I noticed the price of the same bottle of domestic beer fluctuated between that same $1.25 and $2.00. The deciding factor, apparently, was the barmaid sticking her hand in the tip jar and deciding if it was sufficiently full. WTF? How is that any way to run a business, yo?
On a related note, at just past 11:00 that evening, I discovered I had run clean through the small bankroll I was carrying around in my wallet. To be fair, I should mention that I very rarely carry more than five or ten dollars in my wallet. Cash is just not something I really need in my every day life… The gas pump takes my debit card. Starbucks takes my debit card. Metro takes my credit card. Even the damn taxies take credit. I actually can’t remember the last time I needed real American greenbacks to make a transaction at any place of business.
Knowing that I was crippling depleted of cold, hard cash, I walked in a more or less straight line up to the little order/pass through window with my trusty debit card in hand and asked to open a tab for the remainder of the evening. The very same barmaid who determined the price of bottled beer by coping a feel in the tip jar looked me over carefully for several seconds, said no, turned on her heel, and walked away, leaving me sans beverage and with, I’m sure, a stunned look on my face. If it wasn’t for the kind generosity of a friend, I would have remained sans beverage for the balance of the evening. I’m reasonably sure that I didn’t constitute a flight risk at that point, as any attempt at absconding on my tab would have likely resulted in my falling flat on my face. Besides the point that the barmaid would have been holding my freaking ATM card. Exactly how bloody far am I going to get without that lovely little piece of magnetized plastic anyway?
I know, I know. I could have gone to an ATM and retrieved the requisite cash to pay said barmaid for my tasty beverages, but for those of you who know the no-stoplight-town of which I speak, you will recognize that the nearest ATM at 11:00 is at least five miles in either direction. Driving 5 miles on twisty country roads was, quite simply, out of the question by that point.