The Offer Is Sub-Standard

(The sandwich shop I work in is only a block down the main street from a fairly rowdy nightclub. To alleviate problems we close two hours before the club does but we are often there long past closing to finish the cleanup. It is quite common for drunk people to bang on the door when it is well past closing and try to convince us to make them something. This particular night a group of four young men stumble past and one starts hollering through the locked glass door.)

Drunk Guy: “Hey, can you make me a sub?”

Me: “Sorry, we’re closed.”

Drunk Guy: “C’mon! It’ll just take a sec. Hey, you can just pocket the money and no one will ever know!”

Me: “Yeah, I don’t think so. Even if I wasn’t honest, we have security cameras.”

Drunk Guy: “Oh, c’mon. It’s just a sub. Please?”

Me: “Sorry, we’re closed and all the food is put away.”

(By this point his friends are trying to drag him along but I can see that it’s become a rather inebriated point of pride for him to convince me.)

Drunk Guy: “Hey, I know. Tell ya what. I’ll sleep with you if you make me a sub!”

(I make a really obvious show of looking him up and down.)

Me: “And what’s in it for me?”

(He just stood there looking dumbfounded as his friends all cracked up laughing, one of them actually falling over because he was laughing so hard. Shortly thereafter they dragged him off, still in shock.)