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dragonlady7Today, for absolutely no reason, a man gave me $20.
On top of a 75% tip, mind you.
I stared at him for several seconds, and managed to stammer, "thank you," in a flabbergasted and wholehearted fashion.
There was absolutely no reason for him to have left me more than, generously, $2. He had gotten takeout and was sitting in my section. He flagged me down as I was going by with someone else's order, and I somewhat impatiently cleaned the garbage off his table (which I assumed was his, but I was deliberately playing dumb and pretending i thought he was a new customer). He asked if I could get him an order of chicken fingers and some sweet potato fries. I asked if he wanted a drink, but he still had his 32-ounce takeout cup of coke or whatever. He then handed me a $20, and I said, "I can bring the check when you're done eating. This is a restaurant after all. You don't have to pay up front." He had a thick twangy Southern accent, of the type that often means that the customer doesn't tip at all-- I have been burned by Southerners almost as much as by Australians, but of course you can never tell. I try not to judge.
"Keep the change," he said, and I blinked at him: I knew the total for his meal couldn't even be $15.
So I went and rang it through: $11.15. I brought him back the change anyway-- the cocktail waitress working with me told a horror story of a woman who told her to "keep the change" but only meant the loose change, not the bills: a few minutes later she came storming up and in front of the whole bar demanded to know where her money was and called the waitress a thief, so you know what? Never assume people mean what they say.
So I brought him his change in the check folder, and set it down on the table with the bowl of condiments and some napkins and utensils. His food came up in a few minutes and I brought it out. I asked a couple minutes later how everything was and he said it was fine. I wasn't really busy, just a little-- lots of crap to take care of, but not a lot of actual customers. It's not like I was overworked and abused, although of course I always think I am. (The last time somebody randomly gave me $20, it was Christmas Eve and there was a weather delay and I was crying and limping but still serving tables as fast as I could and, like, had a bruise the shape of the Baby Jesus on my forehead or something. That was an earned random $20. This? Not so much.)
A little while later, as the place was clearing out, I noticed he was done, so I picked up the dishes. "Did you need anything else?" I asked, honestly a little surprised that he'd eaten everything; I'd thrown away the debris from what had seemed like a full meal.
"No," he said, "I'm fine. Thank you for getting that out to me so quick. Here's a little something extra for you." And with that, he pressed a $20 bill into my hand as I cleared the table and picked up the check folder.
"Thank you," I managed, and he smiled. "Did you need your receipt?" I asked, holding out the check folder. (I usually say that when I'm not sure they're paying attention to their change. I don't like to mention money, it feels pushy. I've found a lot of bartenders don't. It's why we leave your tip sitting there on the bar in front of you until you leave: picking it up feels grabby and presumptuous. I couldn't tell you why; as a customer I always wondered why they didn't pick it up right away. But as a bartender, I never do. I take it when you leave or when I need to clean up.) He shook his head 'no', and left. I opened the check folder and the $8 and change was still in it.
$28. On an $11 tab.
The waitress sharing my register smiled. "It's nice when that happens," she said. "Just smile and accept it. It's karma rewarding you for all the times you grinned and bore it only to get burned." She cast an appraising eye over the back bar. "And all the dishes you've done tonight." I was pretty much the only one washing.
I'm curious about the fellow. Is this some sort of penance, or his own version of karma? Did he used to be a bad tipper and recently saw the light? He didn't feel like the sort who'd been a waiter himself-- they'll leave you awesome tips too, sometimes, but usually more casually, and without explaining themselves. (If someone says "Oh I tend bar too, I know how it is," 50% of the time they're full of shit and will burn you anyway.)
Maybe he's recently come into a lot of money, although that sort is usually at the bar drinking expensive drinks. Maybe he's recently done something terrible, and wants to feel better about himself. Maybe he's recently done something very good, and wants to spread the good feeling. I don't know, but I am sure that karma will get him back sooner or later.
i told another coworker and he said, "Whoa. Where'd you touch him?"
Thing is, he was probably my dad's age, didn't hit on me, didn't really seem to even look at me-- not that way, anyway. Wasn't sitting close enough to the bar to observe me doing all the work back there. Wasn't close enough to overhear any of my conversations, which mostly weren't about me anyway. (Register-sharing waitress is having really dramatic life crises, quietly, so that's what most of our conversations are about. That and crude sexual innuendo, of course, we being a bunch of hens.)
So the guy must've either just randomly felt like giving somebody a brighter evening, or had observed me working out on the floor and thought I was doing well. I don't know; he didn't say. I was a bit less snarky than usual tonight, but not much.
Oh well. Just smile and take it, as fellow-waitress said. And try to remember it next time you get royally burned.
In other news...
Have the place to myself tonight. Felt weird, as I was waiting to get out of work, knowing that it didn't matter one bit what time I got home. Nobody but me would know. Made myself a good dinner-- a chicken breast, grilled, soused in barbeque sauce, over a bed of homegrown lettuce and slightly overripe radishes (v. spicy!), and some store-bought carrots. (I'm tempted to grow my own carrots next year but I know our clay soil won't work well with them.) And it was really good. Feels kind of nice to putter around by myself. House seems a lot bigger. I'm not doing anything I wouldn't with Z here, but I'm spending less time distracted and wondering what he's up to. I should probably buckle down now and finish writing that novel. It won't take me long if I just do it.
Wonder if I can, before he gets back on Saturday.
*thinks about it a moment*
We'll see.
*disconnects from Internet*
On top of a 75% tip, mind you.
I stared at him for several seconds, and managed to stammer, "thank you," in a flabbergasted and wholehearted fashion.
There was absolutely no reason for him to have left me more than, generously, $2. He had gotten takeout and was sitting in my section. He flagged me down as I was going by with someone else's order, and I somewhat impatiently cleaned the garbage off his table (which I assumed was his, but I was deliberately playing dumb and pretending i thought he was a new customer). He asked if I could get him an order of chicken fingers and some sweet potato fries. I asked if he wanted a drink, but he still had his 32-ounce takeout cup of coke or whatever. He then handed me a $20, and I said, "I can bring the check when you're done eating. This is a restaurant after all. You don't have to pay up front." He had a thick twangy Southern accent, of the type that often means that the customer doesn't tip at all-- I have been burned by Southerners almost as much as by Australians, but of course you can never tell. I try not to judge.
"Keep the change," he said, and I blinked at him: I knew the total for his meal couldn't even be $15.
So I went and rang it through: $11.15. I brought him back the change anyway-- the cocktail waitress working with me told a horror story of a woman who told her to "keep the change" but only meant the loose change, not the bills: a few minutes later she came storming up and in front of the whole bar demanded to know where her money was and called the waitress a thief, so you know what? Never assume people mean what they say.
So I brought him his change in the check folder, and set it down on the table with the bowl of condiments and some napkins and utensils. His food came up in a few minutes and I brought it out. I asked a couple minutes later how everything was and he said it was fine. I wasn't really busy, just a little-- lots of crap to take care of, but not a lot of actual customers. It's not like I was overworked and abused, although of course I always think I am. (The last time somebody randomly gave me $20, it was Christmas Eve and there was a weather delay and I was crying and limping but still serving tables as fast as I could and, like, had a bruise the shape of the Baby Jesus on my forehead or something. That was an earned random $20. This? Not so much.)
A little while later, as the place was clearing out, I noticed he was done, so I picked up the dishes. "Did you need anything else?" I asked, honestly a little surprised that he'd eaten everything; I'd thrown away the debris from what had seemed like a full meal.
"No," he said, "I'm fine. Thank you for getting that out to me so quick. Here's a little something extra for you." And with that, he pressed a $20 bill into my hand as I cleared the table and picked up the check folder.
"Thank you," I managed, and he smiled. "Did you need your receipt?" I asked, holding out the check folder. (I usually say that when I'm not sure they're paying attention to their change. I don't like to mention money, it feels pushy. I've found a lot of bartenders don't. It's why we leave your tip sitting there on the bar in front of you until you leave: picking it up feels grabby and presumptuous. I couldn't tell you why; as a customer I always wondered why they didn't pick it up right away. But as a bartender, I never do. I take it when you leave or when I need to clean up.) He shook his head 'no', and left. I opened the check folder and the $8 and change was still in it.
$28. On an $11 tab.
The waitress sharing my register smiled. "It's nice when that happens," she said. "Just smile and accept it. It's karma rewarding you for all the times you grinned and bore it only to get burned." She cast an appraising eye over the back bar. "And all the dishes you've done tonight." I was pretty much the only one washing.
I'm curious about the fellow. Is this some sort of penance, or his own version of karma? Did he used to be a bad tipper and recently saw the light? He didn't feel like the sort who'd been a waiter himself-- they'll leave you awesome tips too, sometimes, but usually more casually, and without explaining themselves. (If someone says "Oh I tend bar too, I know how it is," 50% of the time they're full of shit and will burn you anyway.)
Maybe he's recently come into a lot of money, although that sort is usually at the bar drinking expensive drinks. Maybe he's recently done something terrible, and wants to feel better about himself. Maybe he's recently done something very good, and wants to spread the good feeling. I don't know, but I am sure that karma will get him back sooner or later.
i told another coworker and he said, "Whoa. Where'd you touch him?"
Thing is, he was probably my dad's age, didn't hit on me, didn't really seem to even look at me-- not that way, anyway. Wasn't sitting close enough to the bar to observe me doing all the work back there. Wasn't close enough to overhear any of my conversations, which mostly weren't about me anyway. (Register-sharing waitress is having really dramatic life crises, quietly, so that's what most of our conversations are about. That and crude sexual innuendo, of course, we being a bunch of hens.)
So the guy must've either just randomly felt like giving somebody a brighter evening, or had observed me working out on the floor and thought I was doing well. I don't know; he didn't say. I was a bit less snarky than usual tonight, but not much.
Oh well. Just smile and take it, as fellow-waitress said. And try to remember it next time you get royally burned.
In other news...
Have the place to myself tonight. Felt weird, as I was waiting to get out of work, knowing that it didn't matter one bit what time I got home. Nobody but me would know. Made myself a good dinner-- a chicken breast, grilled, soused in barbeque sauce, over a bed of homegrown lettuce and slightly overripe radishes (v. spicy!), and some store-bought carrots. (I'm tempted to grow my own carrots next year but I know our clay soil won't work well with them.) And it was really good. Feels kind of nice to putter around by myself. House seems a lot bigger. I'm not doing anything I wouldn't with Z here, but I'm spending less time distracted and wondering what he's up to. I should probably buckle down now and finish writing that novel. It won't take me long if I just do it.
Wonder if I can, before he gets back on Saturday.
*thinks about it a moment*
We'll see.
*disconnects from Internet*
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no subject
Date: 2006-06-16 07:17 pm (UTC)