Last night, a drunk guy comes in-- belligerent, reeking of alcohol, vomit all over his clothes. He's refusing to answer any questions, insists he isn't "some homeless bum," and finally we end up just letting him sleep it off.
I come around in the morning, wake him up, to try and figure out if we're just going to discharge him or what. And he opens his eyes, and politely inquires-- with a British accent--
"Excuse me, where might I be?"
"Wait-- what--? You have an accent?"
"You didn't have an accent last night. Where are you from?"
"You came in here last night, drunk, and you did not have an accent."
"Yes, it is. Are you sure you have an accent?"
"Hmmm. Haven't seen that before. Do you remember what happened last night?"
"I gather I had a little too much to drink."
"Look at your shirt."
He sees the vomit. "Oh, dear. I'm terribly sorry for any inconvenience I may have caused you."
"Do you have a job? Where do you live?"
"Of course I have a job. In fact, that's how I got here."
"We had a work party. I guess I should have been more careful."
"You had an absurd amount to drink at your party."
"I guess it seems I did."
"What kind of work do you do?"
"I'm an accountant."
"Oh. Wild party for accountants."
"You have no idea."