Michael W.
Yelp
Should you ever find yourself in Turnbridge Wells, beware the man in the top hat and outmoded monocle. He IS not the Monopoly man, despite his good charm and offers of free parking. Don't be fooled by his casual grace. He is a crook and a deviant of the highest order. With his quick feet and a mean set of alligator arms, he's a force to be reckoned with.
The shark sauntered in while my brother and I were devouring bacon rolls (which were delicious) and pints in the darkest corner of the pub. Having spent the past hour frantically calculating the exchange rate, we were exhausted by elemental math and decided to throw caution to the wind. No amount of savings was worth this aggravation. Money is money...right? Fat and drunk is how we expected the evening to end, bank accounts be damned.
Without even so much as a greeting, the scoundrel sidled right into our booth. Several quick platitudes later (which we could barely decipher through his garbled accent...English? Not any English that I've ever heard) and he was ordering food & drink like a man possessed.
As his tab grew exponentially, so did our excitement. Dressed well, affecting a posh accent, and pontificating on his various business ventures, we were all but certain that our tab was paid. His temperament was even relaxed enough to bear the brunt of several jokes about his mangled teeth.
Dear Diary...Jackpot! Our attitudes grew lofty and so did our ordering habits. I'm fairly certain we sampled everything on the menu.
I excused myself to use the water closet as the Monopoly man slipped away from our table, slammed the door, and scampered off into the fog-laden evening. I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure we heard a faint, girlish giggle as the sound of dainty footsteps echoed down the alley.
Inebriated, distended, and lethargic, I approached the bartender to inquire about our bill.
He shrugged, I shrugged... "What was that?" I asked.
He said, "That was £220."
"What about the Monopoly guy? Surely he picked up the tab...what with his dapper attire, wanton ordering style, and his stories of fortune."
The tender replied simply, "No such luck my kind Yankee. Cornwallis' Revenge strikes again."