I've always been fascinated by the routine ticket scalpers use to stay out of trouble. I'm not sure it really works, frankly, but it's fascinating. Like a perpetual motion machine, or a French tickler. You know what I'm saying.


In my experience, scalpers never say that they have tickets. They always ask -- of no one in particular, usually -- whether you've got tickets. And for most of the fans in the throng, the answer is 'yes'. Which really means:


'Yes, I'm walking into the stadium, and I have a ticket. I'm not a player, or a hot dog vendor, and I don't enjoy being dumped on my ass by beefy security guards. So I'm travelling with a ticket, yes; and thanks so much for asking, you greedy, lawbreaking bastard.'


See, that's called the 'high road', folks. Many people who attend sporting events are able to take that approach, because in their 'real lives', they don't have to deal with this sort of smarmy underhanded bullshit.


(Of course, these are the same people who have clicked on every attachment in every lousy email they've ever received, because they're not equipped to handle smarmy underhanded bullshit. They're completely unprepared for any sort of evil shenanigans that the world might unleash upon them. See what the 'high road' gets you, there, smartass?Three lousy viruses and a Trojan Horse up your FireWire slot. Think about that next time you're climbing up on that pedestal.)


Me, on the other hand -- well, sometimes I have a ticket. And sometimes, I don't. If I always thought far enough in advance to buy actual tickets for events I was supposed to attend, well then I'd have a hell of a time getting anything else done, wouldn't I? That's a full-time job.


(Plus, I'd probably be dragged to way more operas and ballets and shit. So this silver lining pretty much has another silver lining, right inside. How cool is that? It's like finding a Snickers bar in your bottle of beer. Double your pleasure!)


Anyway, I've been known to chat with scalpers before. And I've found that they'll never make the first move. They ask if you've got tickets. So then, you have to say, 'No -- but do you have any tickets?' That's the only way the conversation can progress. I guess there's some crazy, complicated rule about 'entrapment' or something that says they're in the clear, so long as they don't offer the merchandise first. It's all a game of some kind, where they've got to seem surprised to be holding a stack of field-level box seats:


'Oh, do I have tickets? Why, no, I was just asking for -- hey... wait a minute. Well, would you look at that? I do have tickets. Lots of tickets, too! Well, huh. What do you need, buddy? Only seven grand and your left nut for a pair. Best deal in town!'


Of course, then there's the ace in the hole -- their 'stay out of jail free' card, apparently. Just in case they've screwed up the entrapment thing, or said something incriminating, scalpers always say the same thing, just before the money changes hands:


'Hey... you're not a cop, are you? Because you have to tell me if you are.'


Now... honestly, folks, think about this for a minute. 'You have to tell me'? Does that really work? Come on.


Just imagine an undercover vice cop, or whoever it is that would cover such an event -- the Football Bureau of Investigation, maybe, or the Department of Home Plate Security -- working his way into a scalper's confidence. He's making all the right moves, saying all the right things; the poor scalper really believes he's just a regular guy, trying to get into a game. And just when the cop is about to drop the hammer and throw the cuffs on, he's pimp-slapped with:


'Are you a cop? 'Cause you have to tell me.'


Oooooh. Rejected.


'Yeah... you got me. I'm a cop. Curses!'


I just don't see it. Call me cynical, but I'm thinking the cop says, 'no', hands over the money, billy-clubs the bastard in the babymakers, and carts him off to jail. How the hell else would it work? Nobody would ever go undercover, for any reason, if they knew that anywhere, at any time, a perp could put a gun to their head and just ask if they're a cop. And that they'd be compelled to say, 'Aw, shucks. Yeah, I am. No hard feelings, eh?'


On the other hand... what if it did work that way? And what if you could use that technique in other walks of life? Like dating, for instance:


'So, it's nice to meet you, Nancy. Before we go to the restaurant, I just want to ask -- are you an uptight freaky bitch? Because, you know -- you have to tell me.'


Man, would that have saved a lot of time back in college.


Or how about in a job interview:


'Well, this looks like a fine resume, Charlie. But I wonder -- are you just going to come in here, coast by, take three-hour martini lunches, and blame your coworkers for all of your failures? And remember -- you have to tell me.'


See? Now that would have saved a boatload of time, in the years after college. For the people who hired me. Oh.


Come to think of it, maybe that's not such a good system, after all. I can see where I'd be on the wrong end of that particular stick, most of the time. Wow. I've never felt so close to scalpers before. I think I need a shower now; I feel dirty all over, only without the scads of cash and ready access to professional sporting events. Bah.