I clocked in to work on Sunday night and started my cigarette count while the girl who works the 3-11 shift (we’ll call her “E”) waited on a customer. He looked to be in his late twenties and was dressed like a Successful Young Man on his way home from a weekend at the lake. He was also obviously smitten with E, and it’s really hard to blame the guy. She’s 23 years old, blonde and curvy, and she has a little button nose. Fortunately she’s also very nice, so I don’t hate her the way I instinctively do most cute 23 year olds. (Hey, honesty is a virtue.) He made a few feeble attempts at flirting, which she deflected rather well (naturally, she has a boyfriend), then he gave a last ditch effort:

“Hey, do you think you could give me a job application?”

She snickered at that. “You want to work here?”

“Sure! Why wouldn’t I? I’d get to work with a cute girl. And a…”

He paused for a few seconds, and I realized he was trying to throw me a bone. I looked up from the cigarette display and gave him a big, encouraging smile.

“…and a, uh…a happy girl.”

There are times when honesty really isn’t a virtue.