There's nothing sadder than a business card.
The Smoke does this half-assed thing where we keep a fishbowl behind the register and let people drop business cards into it for the chance to win a free drink once a week. Tel Hpitlo, the owner, fishes out the winning card before we open and sticks it into this little laminate pouch on the front of the fishbowl. The person is pretty much always there, since there isn't a lot of tourist traffic around.
The guys are always sad cruds with a job title like "Senior Sales Distributor, Laminates," and "District Region Associate Manager, Sealants." They have their tapered jeans on, and a belt with two or more gadgets, and a tucked-in white or denim shirt with their company logo on the left chest, and they put their card in to win the free drink. For the most part they have lost or are losing hair around the yarmulke area, or they are losing it from the front. Their shoes are always economy compromises in the general shape of a wingtip, and they tend to cool off with a well screwdriver. After the "plastic tool" they move to scotch and soda and then just a scotch neat, at which point they start bothering women. If Tel's around he'll give them a really unpleasant shoulder rub and they clear out pretty fast. If Tel isn't around, they'll usually bother women until I mix them an accidental triple and they fall on their faces. Hiding a shot of Everclear in a bottom-dollar S&S isn't too hard to do with these guys, and before long they're medicated to the point where we can line 'em up at the cab stand.
Beef stopped in on Monday and promised to take us out to lunch tomorrow, but that might just have been the free Ouzo talking.