So I'm sitting in the Cincinnati airport right now, having spent my Spring Break as an international man of intrigue and mystery, and I'm on a four-hour layover.  Four hours.  Whaaaat the hell.  I'll officially be spending more time sitting at this one airport terminal than I will in the air during two separate flights. 

     And while I'm bitching, when the hell am I going to break down and buy a laptop?  2009, and I'm writing this thing out longhand in a notebook like some sort of relic from the stone age.  I'm pretty sure people are staring at me as I sit here scribbling in my spiral-bound, college ruled Mead 5-Star. 

     Anyway, the psychological conundrum. 

     Actually, wait!  I just watched a guy attempt to give away a Cherry Coke he'd purchased from a vending machine before noticing that the vending machine also offered Dr. Pepper, which he preferred, leaving him with an unwanted, unopened Cherry Coke.  He made it through at least 20 people, explaining in detail to each person the entire Cherry Coke/Dr. Pepper mishap, before he finally found a taker.  Most people seemed to stare at the Cherry Coke as though it were about to explode or sprout tentacles and suck out their eyeballs.  Hahahaha, man, that cracked me up.  I blame these constant announcements reminding everyone that the current threat advisory level is "Orange", myself. 

     Anyway, the psychological conundrum.

     Okay, so I was starving when I landed, and I bought a sub at the airport Quizno's, because Quizno's is awesome, and the cruel hand of fate recently closed the Quizno's located less than a mile from my apartment.

     The sub and Coke came to $9.52.  I paid with a $20. 

     The cashier handed me two $10s and 48 cents in change.   

     So what did I do when I noticed the extra 10-dollar bill?  I returned it to the cashier. 

     Who the hell does that?!?  Am I just that much of a nice guy?  I didn't even really think about it until after I'd told Quizno's Guy that he'd given me too much money and handed the extra bill back to his rather shocked self.  I was also kind of exhausted (having ignored my 6:30 a.m. wake-up call and stayed up until 1:00 in the morning watching Inner Space in my hotel room, mostly because I wanted to see Jack Putter digest the creepy, miniaturized bad guy with stomach acid at the end), so I'm assuming that was just my natural reaction on a subconscious level. 

     And y'know what?  That sucks.  I don't want to be a nice guy.  Because nice guys are doomed.  Doooooomed.  I was essentially being paid 48 cents to enjoy a tasty toasted sub and ice-cold Coca-Cola, but refused, because the cash drawer of some guy from Cincinnati who I don't even know and who I will never see again in my life would be 10 bucks off at the end of his shift.  Madness.  Madness, I tell you. 

     I'm thinking maybe it's little unconscious moments like these that reveal your true, innermost nature.  And apparently, my true, innermost nature is "Schmuck". 

     Fortunately, I also solved a Rubik's Cube at 30,000 feet today.  So it's not like I can be accused of being "uncool" or anything on top of everything else.  Right?