He rushes out of a bar toward me and hands me his cutlass. I am to judge whether it is the sharpest blade that I have ever felt. I agree and he wins his wager, much to the chagrin of his fellow drinkers.
He offers a swig from his flask for my services rendered, but not being in the habit of imbibing spirits I turn him down.
He then insists on buying me a nonalcoholic beverage, and accept.