When you work in finance you learn that some people on Wall Street are every bit as vile as they are portrayed in the movies.

We are a stock trading firm, and we were having big problems with our most important software platform. So they sent out a guy to reassure us of their commitment to us.

Let’s call him Vinny. (Yes, they are this stereotypical.) Vinny is from Long Island. Slicked-back hair. Big league accent. Garish cufflinks. Overdoes it on the protein powder and gym time.

The meeting is unsuccessful, so he takes us out for drinks as a final push. As if it were scripted, it’s the best-known cougar bar in the area. Dark hardwoods everywhere. The scotch list was good, at least.

He tells us to order whatever we want, and brags about taking people to boxes at Yankee Stadium and such as that. Half a dozen of us or so are sitting at the table. We’re having an OK time.

Then the most reassuring event of the day occurs. His wife and kids call to say goodnight. He’s playful and kind. Maybe he’s not so bad after all.

But it only lasts thirty seconds.

Immediately after the call ends, Vinny slams down the phone, turns to our waitress, and asks her to sleep with him.

Uggh.

She stumbles through a rejection, suspended by surprise.

“Tonight is my 21st birthday so I’m going out.”

“Sounds great. We’ll celebrate with a bottle of champagne in my room.”

“Uhh, actually, my mom is the one taking me out, it’s a great time for us to be together.”

“There’s room at my hotel for three.”

At this point I’m practically pinching myself, in utter disbelief that this could possibly be real.

This guy just told his wife and kids he loves them, then asks somebody else’s wife and kid to sleep with him. In front of dissatisfied clients.

This was as real as it gets.

As the weight of what I was witnessing set in, my mind became more alive that it has ever been since.

I hatched a plot.

In that moment Vinny and I became good buddies. We joked, told stories, and most of all we drank. A lot.

Then we started taking shots. Well, really, once he had the idea Vinny took a bunch of shots on his own to impress us.

That’s when I ordered more scotch. The most expensive glass on the menu was $450. I ordered doubles. For the entire table.

And then I ordered another round.

By the time the check came Vinny was blackout drunk. It was $12,000. “Whatever we want,” he had insisted, looking earnestly into my eyes.

“Yo John, I’m so trashed man, can you do the tip for me? Make it real nice, this was fun, right?”

“Sure. Nothing would make me happier.”

With hidden glee I did, indeed, “make it real nice.” $12,000 tab, $6,000 tip. 50%. Vinny signed with a smile on his face.

On the way out I gave the waitress my sincerest apology, and told her happy birthday.

The next week we get a call from Vinny’s boss.

“Mr. Roberson, I hate to bother you, but I noticed that only a handful of people managed to spend $18,000 on drinks. Could you confirm that this is correct? I just want to make sure Vinny wasn’t taking advantage.”

So I tell him the entire story.

“…and if he can’t be trusted to be faithful to his wife for 30 seconds, how can we trust any promise that he makes? We’re happy to reimburse you for that evening if you like. Or you can fix your software within four weeks, as promised — as well as a list of upgrades I’m sending you — and we’ll be your customers moving forward. Which do you prefer?”

They’ve not missed a deadline since.