A restaurant in any downtown area will inevitably be confronted with the strangest of circumstances and our’s is certainly no exception. Last night I had to out kick four homeless guys that were trying to bum money for a drink or to satisfy their crack habits and this was a slow Tuesday. Way too much drama for a slow Tuesday. This next story happened last night and while dramatic, to me is more of a combination of sad and comical.
To set the stage, our restaurant hosted a series of video game tournaments for XBOX featuring John Madden’s NFL football game. Basically, a bunch of nerds, rednecks and thugs(it is amazing the diversity of culture, or lack there of this type of event brings) get together and play against each other in a double elimination tournament. By seven o’clock the restaurant was beginning to fill with customers for the tournament as well those who were simply looking to wind down with a cocktail after a long day at work. One of our most seasoned waitresses approached me in the kitchen as I spoke with Baxter, my cousin and the owner of our restaurant. She showed me the credit card receipt where customers who pay with credit card are to leave gratuity, then below that total the bill and sign. It is something we have all done probably thousands of times, and being in this industry it a piece of paper I see several hundred times a week. Sometimes the gratuity is considerably more than expected, sometimes the inverse, and sometimes there is nothing at all. It all comes with the territory of working for tips – not everyone appreciates and understands the idea of customer service and the respect that should be given to the ones who serve us. It is my job to ensure that if someone chooses not to leave a tip, or if the tip isn’t proportional to the typical standard in relation to the bill, to find out why exactly they didn’t leave a gratuity for the waitress or bartender. There are circumstances where on a busy night our staff is overworked with customers and potentially gave poor service, or maybe one of our feisty girls was having a bad night and came across rude or unprofessional. There are a number of reasons why someone might choose not to leave a tip, and one of the circumstances in which I approach a customer is when I feel their actions have intentionally disrespected my staff. This time, Kat, my waitress handed me the signed slip and on the line allotted for a tip it said, “Sorry not today, great service though.” I looked at her, then at Baxter, baffled trying to figure out what she meant by this and how this person could justify writing what they did. To me, this made no sense whatsoever. If you get received great service, and recognize that then there is no circumstance in which you shouldn’t take care of the service staff. Not a single one. Kat motioned towards the table and the individual that paid for the two drinks, that during happy hour only totaled $4.50. She didn’t even leave a tip on discounted items! It was an overweight middle age black woman who was short with orange tinted hair, wearing tighter than appropriate acid washed jeans and the hue of gold lining her teeth –they seemed to match her hair. She wasn’t our typical customer and far from our desired clientele, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt, walked over to her and in a surprisingly pleasant tone had the following exchange with her.
“Mam, my waitress showed me your bill and the signed credit card copy, which stated that you got great customer service…. If you don’t mind me asking, if you acknowledge that you did, indeed, get good service, then why would you choose not to leave a tip?”
“I didn’t leave no tip, cause I ain’t got no money.”
“I see, but you had enough to purchase the two drinks, it seems like you could have potentially purchased one less drink in order to take care of the service you received?
“I ain’t gonna overdraw my account just to leave a tip. I don’t gotta leave no tip.”
“If you can afford a drink, but not the gratuity on it then maybe you should reconsider going out. My waitresses make two dollars an hour and rely on their customers to make money.”
“What the fucks that s’posed to mean? Maybe you should pay them more,” she exclaimed beginning to get fiery.
“Mam,” I paused trying to find the words that might help her understand, “ I am selling you a vodka tonic for two bucks, so yeah, I could pay them more if I was charging twice as much for a drink. Additionally, my waitresses and bartenders are personally taxed by the government on the assumption that they are receiving gratuity on every credit card transaction. Thus she is essentially losing money by waiting on you. So keep that in mind.”
“I’m not keepin’ nothing in mind! I find you so disrespectful approaching me like this, I said I ain’t gonna leave no tip, now get the fuck outta mah face. If I were white, would you have come hollerin’ at me like this”?
“Okay, racial epithets are where I draw the line. You disrespected my waitress first – I think it’s time for you to leave. Get the fuck out of here,” I retorted feeling my face get red and the veins in my neck beginning to excite.
“I will leave, I can’t believe this shit is hapenin’,” she mumbled to her friend as she collected her belongings. I stood within a couple of steps to ensure that she was indeed leaving, but certainly gave her the space she desired.
“I done told you im leavin – get outta my fuckin face,”
“Mam, please lower your voice, I am giving you plenty of room.”
She grabbed her belongings and waddled towards the bar before heading to the front door.”
“Hey you, hey you – BARTENDAH!!!!” She screamed hoping to get Mike’s attention. He wandered over shaking his head – he despised this type of customer more than anyone else on our staff.
“I need the phone numba to da owner.”
“I can give you the number to our restaurant here, it is 757.622-XXXX“
“I need his ceeellll phoneee numba ya dumm ass,”
“I’m afraid I can’t give you that, but you can call him during the day on the number I just gave you to setup an appointment with him.”
“That ain’t,” she began before I disrupted her.
“Mam, it is time to go, like he said call up here if you want to speak with Baxter. “
She begrudgingly made her way to the front door cursing under every breath she took. I shook my head as the door swung behind her and the echo of her profane voice faded away. A couple bar regulars grinned at me as Mike questioned the altercation. I explained to him and the regulars what had happened, and not five minutes had elapsed before the phone rang.
“Thank you for calling Baxter’s, may I help you,” I answered after the second ring.
“I need to speak with the manager on duty – wait – this is you – what’s yo name?”
“My name is Christopher Hill, what can I help you with?”
“Ya damn bartenda gave me the wrong fuckin’ numba – I told him I need the numba to the owner, and he gave me this. “
“This is the best number to reach him, but-“
“What is the number to your corporate office?”
“Mam, we only have one location, so again this is the number to our “corporate” office.”
“Yall stop bullshitting with me.” This went back and forth, until she seemed convinced that this was indeed the only restaurant until she called back about ten mintues later and asked for the number to our district office. Some people just don’t seem to get it, and she certainly seemed to be one of those people. When she called back she was more profane than before, and began threatening our business by stating that she was going to call the alcohol beverage control as well as the federal business bureau and get us shut down. I let her ramble and curse and finally hung the phone up when she, for the second time in a matter of 30 minutes, called me racist, and this time did so with profane language. I laughed about it for most of the night sharing with regulars and friends of mine who might find the story entertaining. At the same time I reflected on how sad this woman’s behavior was, and how eating in a nice environment outside of one’s home seems like a privilege and one’s behavior should reflect that. I wandered back to the office where Baxter was crunching some numbers for the sandwich shop we will be opening in the coming months and told him of the phone call I had with the crazy lady, he laughed and we swapped stories about similar situations, but neither could come up with a story that rivals this one.
When I added the part about her calling the authorities on us, he responded with this.
“Just tell her if she is going to call the federal business bureau then we will call the sheriff’s office and see if there are any warrants out for her arrest. That’ll shut her fat ass up real quick.“
We both chuckled for a couple of minutes. Just another day at the office……
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