Spy Games and Utility Friends

So our protagonist, Adam, has been putting off a 'date' with our antagonist, a girl we will affectionately refer to as The Beast, that he met online. After several (fortunately) failed attempts to meet, he finally has no choice but to make her acquaintance at the Green Dragon.
Naturally, Brice and I think it'd be nice to tag along, incognito. Adam thinks it'd be nice too.

Upon arrival, we find Adam munching on a chicken sandwich, alone.
"WTF?" I says.
"I'm meeting her in a few somewhere else," he says.

But since Brice and I have already ordered our beers, we decide it'd be good to stick around. This is when we get into our conversation about utility friends. It goes something like this:

Henry: I think we need more utility friends.
Brice: Me too.

Essentially, the definition of a utility friend is one who can provide you with free, discounted, or previously unavailable goods or services, and allow convenient access to otherwise difficult or inaccessible establishments. Jen FlatTops is probably the best example of a utility friend we currently have, and perhaps the only good example. Other lesser examples may be Annie Grendels, or DJ Orleans MacFaddens.

Coincidentally enough, right smackdab in the middle of our conversation, somewhere between the words 'need' and 'utility', our bartender interjects, "You guys go to Paddy O's sometimes, right?" I thought he looked familiar.

Over the next half hour, we come to know and love our new potential utility friend Burnsy, who bartends at the Green Dragon during the week, and bounces at Paddy O's on the weekends. He'd make a great utility friend. We plan on visiting him again next Tuesday.

Now, the important point we must stress here is that, utility friends are friends before they are utilities. Note that 'utility' describes the 'friend', and not the other way around. They're not 'friend utilities'. Although a friend utility infers a completely different meaning - an XBox is a friend utility. So is sausage and mushroom pizza, or the ability to produce large amounts of chocolate from your pituitary glands.

All credit for the phrase 'utility friend' goes to Adam, for I believe it was he who coined the term. A Google search produces nothing remotely similar to our definition. So don't look. Don't. You'll just feel stupid if you do.

Getting back to the Spy Games part of our story, Brice and I bid a hearty farewell to our Burnsy, and proceed towards the Gas Light Pub, located directly between Durgin Park and the Black Horse Tavern.

Its a Tuesday night and business is scarce - nary a wanderer find their way here. We locate Adam at the bar, defeated, slumped over his stool and weakly clutching his Sam Adams in both hands. Next to him sits The Beast. She towers above his sullen form, in a tube top and matching earrings.

Being as discreet as possible, Brice and I sit at the bar, one stool between us and them. The stakes are high, the tension is thick. During pauses in our conversation, we catch glimpses into theirs.

The Beast: Oh my god. I totally fell asleep with a beer in my hand. In my hand. Oh my god.
Adam: [half-hearted chuckle]

We decide it best to change Adam's name to "Jason" in our conversations, else The Beast may catch on. Later we decide to change our names too. The story continues.

Ben and I (Eddie) order another beer. Adam excuses himself to use the bathroom. Brice takes the opportunity to follow suit. I remain in guard at the bar. The Beast is quiet, and keeps to herself. She refuses to look at me, although I stare awkwardly at her in my little Asian way. I call out to her, "Dr. Jones! Dr. Jones!"...Nothing. She appears to type something into her monster cellphone (how appropriate) and proceeds to bite her nails.

Meanwhile, Brice and Adam return to their respective stools. Brice recites the recent urinal conversation:

Brice: You want out? I can punch Henry in the nads and amidst the confusion we'll make a run for it.
Adam: No, I think we can..wait..you'd do that for me?
Brice: Hells yeah babygirl.
Adam: Oh Brice...
Brice: ...
Adam: ...
Brice: ...
Adam: Umm..nah I think I'll be fine. Just don't leave without me.
Brice: You got it. Seeyas.
Adam: Wait...Brice..
Brice: Yes?
Adam: ...nothing.

The night continues. Brice and I hear more of their conversation:

The Beast: Oh my god. I was totally drunk at work. At work. Oh my God.
Adam: Every moment I live is in agony.
The Beast: What?
Adam: Oh nothing, I was just chuckling..half-heartedly.
The Beast: Oh okay.

Finally they leave the bar, as do Brice and I. We follow, yet keep our distance to be safe. I battle the urge to run up behind The Beast, smack her ass while taking her purse and fleeing in the night. The journey is near unbearable.

Brice and I watch with relief as Adam prods her through the turnstile, and with a "Yeehaw!" scrambles towards us. The Beast scowls, but it is too late. She cannot get back her dollar twenty five. The war is over. But there are no winners. Just survivors.

Adam: You guys wanna get a drink at The Kinsale? I could sure use one.

Attendance is scarce at The Kinsale, and this is where we meet our second utility friend of the night. Nicolette, the bartender from Attleboro, originally from Hawaii, heightens our interest in implementing Green Dragon/Kinsale Tuesdays.

As the sun begins to rise..in Japan..we make our merry ways home, thankful for coming out unscathed, looking forward to the embrace of another day.