Scenario: At our favorite Irish pub, the bartender is crying. She has just unwittingly served an underage informant and is receving a citation when we enter. The officer leaves, and for the next hour, the bar is abuzz with the news.
Bartender: (distraught)I thought she was older than me! She looked just like you, Lisa. Like your age. She was all dressed up and she had, like, a work case, like she just got off work.
Barfly 1: That’s dirty pool, man.
Barfly 2: It’s entrapment.
Lisa: Why the hell would the girl agree to do that?
Barfly 2: They probably got her on something.
Barfly 1: Armed robbery or something.
Barfly 2: Exactly.
Barfly 1: They didn’t Mirandize you. You’re innocent! They didn’t give you your Miranda Rights. Right?
Barfly 2: No. They didn’t arrest her. It was just a citation.
Barfly 1: But she admitted guilt. They can’t use that in court. This is San Francisco, man. This is a set up.
Bartender: (Tearing up.) I know. (She begins to phone other bars in the area to warn them that they should be especially strict about carding tonight.)
Barfly 1: This is how we spend our tax money? To catch criminals like you.
Bartender: Yeah.
Barfly 2: You’re so bad.
Bartender: This is like the bar where old people go!
Mighty Girl 