Friday, guy with buzzed hair and a button-down shirt. He was already there when I came in, but he was sober and polite, and he knew what he wanted and had a tab (which is faster because I just make the drink and bring it to him and mark the tab, as opposed to taking his order, making the drink, bringing it over, taking money, making change, etc.) so on several occasions I skipped over other people to get him. After about two hours of this, while we were still totally slammed, he asked to close his tab. I brought it over and after giving him his credit card and his tab, I proceeded to take the order from the guy next to him. While I was making that drink, I overheard the Blonde Douchebag telling his friend that he wasn't going to tip. I thought that I must have misheard him, because up to this point we had had been getting along just fine.
After finishing up with the other customer, I went to retrieve Blonde Douchebag's credit card slip. Thirty-eight dollars, no tip.
Before I go any further I would like to explain that thirty eight dollars in the bar where I work represents a lot of drinks. This is a college town, beers are two bucks, and even if you tip twenty percent (which people often don't), you're talking about less than eight bucks on nineteen beers (or four beers and eight drinks, or whatever). Any way you cut it, it's not great, and not tipping at all is total bullshit, especially when i have busted my ass and provided you with excellent service.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" I yelled at the back of Blonde Douchebag as he made his way to the front of the stage.
He didn't turn around. I went around the bar, walked up to him in front of all of his friends, tapped him on the shoulder, and said very loudly, but not angrily
"Did I do something to upset you?"
"What? No. Why? What-" replied Blonde Douchebag.
"Are you sure? I mean, you got everything you wanted, in a timely fashion, and everything?"
He nodded at me stupidly.
"Really? Because you left me no tip at all on a thirty-eight dollar tab, so I assumed you must be pissed about something."
"No. You're a great bartender. You were great. Really."
"Well, I'll be sure and tell my fucking landlord you said so."
As I walked away i heard his girlfriend bitching him out. A few minutes later a couple of his friends came up and apologized and threw a few dollars into the tip jar.
They all left.
An hour later, I look up and Blonde Douchebag is back. I am in the process of pouring three drinks, and he is standing three feet away from me yelling "Ma'am! Ma'am!" at the side of my head. I looked up and calmly said "You're going to have to wait."
I didn't wait on him. I didn't look at him again, until several minutes later when he put his hand out and told me he was sorry for not tipping me earlier. I didn't take his hand, but looked down at it and then back up at him with dead eyes.
"I'm glad that you're sorry."
He looked angry, like he was about to start a fight with me over it.
"I'm trying to tell you I'm sorry-"
"And I heard you. And I'm glad you apologized."
After we closed I saw him outside with the other biggest asshole in the room. More on that guy later.
2 comments:
Maybe he's spent too long in England?
Definitely not. I am fairly forgiving of anyone with a foreign accent, as I am aware that tipping isn't customary everywhere (though I would argue that since I know other countries' customs, anyone visiting here ought to know ours). This was just a run of the mill American idiot.
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