There I was, sitting at the bar, staring at my drink, when a really big, trouble-making biker steps up next to me, grabs my drink, and gulps it down in one swig.
“Well, whatcha gonna do about it?” he says menacingly, as I burst into tears.
“Come on, man,” the biker says, “I didn’t think you’d cry. I can’t stand to see a man crying.”
“This is the worst day of my life,” I said. “I’m a complete failure. I was late to a meeting and my boss fired me. When I went to the parking lot, I found my car had been stolen and I don’t have any insurance. I left my wallet in the cab I took home. I found my wife in bed with the gardener, and then my dog bit me, so I came to this bar to work up the courage to put an end to it all. I ordered a drink, dropped the capsule in it, and was sitting here watching the poison dissolve when you showed up and drank the whole thing. To top it all off, now the bartender is going to hate me when he finds out I can’t pay for that drink. Ah, you probably don’t care about any of that. How’s your day going?”