Spargo_Buys_Dinner.docx

Despite the fact that Spargo had been the one to suggest, “winner of a formalised rock-paper-scissors tournament pays for dinner”, he had also evidently expected to win, judging by the single blowfly, like in a hammy rags-to-riches film, that rose up from his open wallet and buzzed away on the breeze.

The girl behind the counter showed little emotional reaction to his predicament. Working too long in a 24/7 Macca’s will do that to you. But if she had, in contradiction to a lengthy list of food health and safety rules, been chewing gum, she almost certainly would have popped a bubble in his face. After a slightly too-long pause of Spargo rifling desperately through the very small number of pockets he could potentially have cash in, she sighed.

“I’m sorry, but, like, if you don’t have the money right now, I’ll have to start serving the other customers?”

Spargo glanced over his shoulder at this, and received a pointed cough and glare from a middle-aged woman with a “can I speak to the manager” haircut for his efforts. What she and her screaming bratty children were doing in the city centre at 1am was beyond him. Purely for her benefit, he paused just a little longer, then turned back to the cashier and hit her with a wave of charm turned right up to 11.

“Heh,” he heh-ed casually. “Don't worry about it. I got a couple friends coming in just a sec.” At this, he planted one hand on the counter and leaned forward in a way that was supposed to be sexy-assertive, but in reality was narrowly testing the limits of the poor woman’s personal space.

“We’re in a band.”

“Oh,” She said, brightening suddenly. One hand left its position next to the touch-screen order system to coil around a lock of hair at the side of her face. Spargo’s chest swelled with triumphant pride, knowing that it was a good sign when a girl started touching her hair when talking to a guy. He had learned this from every modern pickup artist’s guide – the internet.

“That’s kinda hot,” she continued, and Spargo’s pride dimmed as he noticed the particular emphasis she put on that, and the fact that her gaze was directed over his shoulder.

“Ok, how much was it?”

Spargo turned to see that Ryn and Sharpie, his band-mates in question, had arrived right on cue. Sharpie was already rifling through his wallet.