(It is a busy Saturday night. During the dinner rush, I have been dealing with a table of two 20-something year old men. The blonde one has found something to complain about every time Iāve walked by while the brown-haired one just blushes and stays quiet. Theyāve finished their meal.)
Blonde Man:Ā āAre you new here?ā
Me:Ā āNo, sir. Iāve been a waitress here for two years and three years at [other restaurant] prior.ā
Blonde Man:Ā āThen you have no excuse for how terrible this service was. The salad was wilty, and the entree was way too cold, and you were nowhere to be found. Plus, this place is far too noisy; I could barely hear myself speak! Honestly, I get better service at a fast food place.ā
Me:Ā āIām sorry you feel that way. While there isnāt much I can do about the noise, I did offer to bring you different food before, but you said no.ā
Blonde Man:Ā *waves me off*Ā āJust bring me the check, and try not to be so slow about it for once.ā
(I go and get the check, but when I return, the brown-haired man stands up and hands me a $20 bill.)
Brown-haired Man:Ā āHere, this is your tip. He wasnāt going to give you one. As a former waiter myself, I thought you were doing a perfectly fine job. My food was great, and the service was fast even though youāre so busy right now.ā
(He turns to his blonde companion.)
Brown-haired Man:Ā āPeople like you made my job so much worse, especially for making us work that much harder for no tip. So thanks for the meal, but you can go ahead and delete my number because there will be no second date. And by the way,potjevleeschĀ isĀ supposedĀ to be served cold, you idiot.ā
(With that, he left the restaurant without his date. It made the whole night worth it, to see that blonde man speechless for once.)
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