Thursday, November 4, 2010

the roscoe diner is a lifetime movie, take 2

So today was a bizarrely busy Thursday night at work.  There were only three of us on, a bus was scheduled to come in, we had no busboy and 36 hungry Colgate soccer girls to feed.  I legit sprinted around the restaurant for about an hour and a half.  My back pain has now developed to a point where it kind of feels like... it's bubbling?  Like my back is carbonated or something?  Every so often there is this little blip of pain.  Like a bubble is bursting, only in my back.  Gross, right?

SO ANYWAY, I offered to stay until close because I need the money and these four women come in.  They all immediately order complicated bar drinks and the one woman asked me if there was "something wrong with me" when I told her I didn't know what a Caesar was (as a bar drink.  I have never heard of that in my entire life.  And then this lady didn't know what a Bloody Mary was!  And I'm  the weird one?).  As I walked away, I could clearly hear one of them say "Wow, the service here is terrible!"  I just knew, with my waitress' sixth sense (the same one I use to sense empty ketchup bottles from all the way across the restaurant) that they were looking for an excuse to stiff me.

They proceeded to make fun of my coworker's hair and order another round of drinks and then get snippy when I told them the bar was now closed.  I finally gave them their check for $87 and, after they'd left, found that they'd left the bill on the table with enough change to give me a four-dollar tip.

That's not 20%.  That's not even 10%.  That's more like 5%, and I'm pretty sure that's not acceptable anywhere.  By anyone.

So I go to clean off the table, fuming and cursing them to high heaven with a percolating back, and what do I find?

Why, a bank envelope with $480 American and $50 Canadian.  In cash.

If I had been anyone else, I would have shut up and pocketed that money.  I would have pulled a couple bills out for myself, to make up for their shitty tip.  I would have said it was their own damn fault for getting so drunk at a diner at nine-thirty at night that they left five-hundred bucks just laying around.  But I didn't.  I turned the money in to my boss, who put it in the safe in the back.

If this sounds like shamless self-promotion, an elaborate, "HEY LOOK AT ME I AM BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE", that's because it is.  If I was Catholic I would expect to be canonized any day now.  I have a ton of good karma as a result of your idiocy, Shitty Tipper Ladies.  Suck on it. 

And even though I am unto a saint?  That doesn't mean that I didn't take a huge amount of joy in the fact that we closed the restaurant ten minutes after they left.  Which means that, by the time they realize what they left behind and come back, they'll find the restaurant closed and they'll have to come all the way back tomorrow.

Ha ha ha.

No comments:

Post a Comment