Stumbling around Baja Red's in search of $2 fries after 6 p.m.

I saunter to my car, and an ancient bearded woman sputters something in my direction: "Change?" I feel for her, but this pig is all credit (have to write off all my drinks so I can at least break even on this gig). I shake my head sadly and walk through a group of young, laughing guys. For a minute, I think I'll have to get in a scrape, because of my flannel shirt, but it turns out these guys are just throwing change and laughing at the old lady scrambling to try and pick it up. Shit, it's late and I don't box well, and I guess the lady needs the coin. Next time, I'm bringing change and I think to myself, Priceless Right, bitch!