I was at the supermarket. The pretty-but-not-intimidiatingly-so woman in front of me in line was using the cardreader to pay her bill. The male cashier--short, unattractive-but-in-an-amiable-way, with a voice that sounds a little bit like Costello from Abbott & Costello--decides to embark on some joshing checkout flirtation:
"If you use it as an ATM, we have a limit of $100,000 on withdrawls."
"Well, you won't have to worry about me doing that."
Pause, and then: "You know what I would do if I had that kind of money?"
"I would get one of those credit cards that give you the airplane miles."
"If you had that kind of money and used one of those all the time, I bet you could probably get three or four trips a year."
I wondered if she would make the obvious point, and I could have fallen in love with her on the spot if the cashier hadn't already claimed man-dibs, because she did: "But couldn't you just pay for the trips yourself then?"
Which flummoxed him for only a couple seconds. "Yeah, but this way you'd get them for free."