Brendan is the type of bloke who wanks to his ATM receipt on payday. Some say the joy is in giving, but not for Brendan, he is tighter than the pants around a Bee Gee’s bulge after going platinum. His stinginess is the elephant in the room, and he seems entirely oblivious to how much his friends kinda hate him for it.
Brendan heads over to a mate’s house for pre-drinks before dinner in Mount Lawley. He brazenly enters the house with 2 Carlton Drys that he’s raided from his own housemate’s stash. Within 10 minutes, he has exhausted his asks if he can have some of his mate’s piss like he was a FIFO worker on his 2nd meth strike.
The lads jump into a taxi and quickly arrive at El Publico for a birthday dinner. Brendan demonstrates why he is the Jack Bauer of cheapness by leaping out of the taxi and thus clearing himself from the zone of contribution. Good save Brendo.
He remains dead silent during the meal-game plan. It’s a celebration, and the table wants to get some starters, wine, share plates and tequila, ole! However Brendan is a frugal sniper, he takes a breath, stabilises his aim and pulls his tight trigger, “I’m not that hungry guys, I’ll just get a main for myself, ay”.
Despite Brendan’s loss of appetite he fails to turn down a single offer, a glass of wine mate? Sure. Some guacamole? Sure. Shot of tequila? Why not! Brendan has nailed this feast and passes $18 in assorted shrapnel to cover the exact cost of his main.
The lads head to the Scoto for a few beers after dinner. They walk in, and Brendan avoids the first round by breaking formation and peeling off towards the toilet. He nurses each pint like coeliac at Oktoberfest – if he can maintain this pace he might just miss his round.
Eventually, it’s Brendan’s turn, and he is staring down the barrel of a 6-pint order. Judgment day has come. Always the thinker, he executes a beautiful “Thrifty Haka” and pats every pocket he has, “shit guys, think I left my wallet at El Publico, lets head that way, and I’ll buy the next round at The Queens, ay?” Nice.
Brendan’s mates are adamant that he comes good on his promise, so they oblige. He pretends to “find” his wallet at El Publico and then deploys his secret weapon, a fake phone call to his missus. “Sorry lads, I gotta bail, the missus is having a rough time, my shout next time ay?”
What a piece of shit. Pre-drinks: $0, taxi: $0, dinner: $18, 6 pints: $0, the loss of respect and patience of your mates: priceless.