Buying time, I take another swallow of soda. Then: “I’m not interested.” I turn my attention to the front door of the night club. I waited in line for two hours to get inside. I’m not missing a single person that passes through.

I can just make out her offended scoff over the blaring music, but the “asshole” is perfectly audible as she storms away.

I’m sure she’s on her way to her friends to complain about the asshole who blew her off, and that’s fair. She and her friends are not what I’m searching for. The first step in the scientific method is to identify.

I’ll know it when I see it.

After another few minutes, the bouncer unhooks the velvet rope and admits a group of suits. Four men in black tailored business attire. Expensive. Important. This piques my interest, and I watch as they lead six women to the VIP lounge on the second level.

I watch them as they order drinks. I watch them as they grope the women. This really isn’t their kind of scene either…but they’re not here to pick up women, like every other single man that ventures to a night club. And the women aren’t here to be picked up. They’ve already been paid for the night. They’re escorts.

To the keen observer, these men are celebrating. I grab my drink and weave a path through the undulating bodies toward the other end of the club. A rope separates the VIP section, and another bouncer-type guards that post.

I smile at the burly man. His facial muscles are carved in steel. I’m not getting past him. Noted. Instead, I take up the empty seat on the leather bench directly below the elevated VIP section. The only thing blocking the VIPs off is a black metal rail; it’s not soundproof.

I catch fragments of their conversation, but it’s not enough to form a conclusion. They had bet on a fight of sorts and their contender won. They plan to blow a lot of money tonight. Frustrated, I push back against the cushioned seat and wait.

Here’s the thing: I’m searching for particular traits. It would be easier and much wiser for me to search out these exacting qualities and behaviors in a less conspicuous location. Like a homeless shelter. Or back alley. Few notice when a vagrant goes missing.

But that pool is lacking in the characteristics I covet the most.

Lack of empathy.

Superficial charm.

Grandiose sense of self-worth.

Shallow affect.

These individuals are more prone to climb the corporate ladder than fester in an alley. Their disregard to human compassion sets them apart, gives them the tools necessary to achieve greater heights, like a surgeon, or CEO of a fortune 500.

Like my friends in the VIP lounge.