Some nights I know a bad tip is coming. I've either gone to no lengths to conceal my hatred for a table, something beyond my control has gone horribly wrong and I'm still to blame, or I can just tell from an educated yet politically incorrect gut feeling that a table will tip poorly.
Not so with Lamar Miller and Douglas Turner, a pair of seemingly polite and low-key gentlemen who ended up giving me one of the worst tips I've ever received (aside from being completely stiffed). I hope they both die and spend eternity drinking Satan's semen by the gallon in Hell.
Lamar, who barley had any semblance of a personality, arrived early with his grating girlfriend, a name-dropping wannabe who downed three glasses of white zinfandel like a mobile home housewife in the making. Her stupidity was only surpassed when Douglas and his equally idiotic girlfriend arrived. His girlfriend, the token chunky one, looked at me like I'd inquired about her menstruation history when I asked what she wanted to drink. What can I say? I ask those tough questions.
Nevertheless, I didn't immediately hate this harmless group. Despite their complete and absolute lack of taste and slightly off social skills, they were never rude. They were low maintenance and occasionally managed to say "please" and "thank you."
When it came time to tab out, they'd racked up a $134.99 tab. Douglas put $80 on his card and left no tip. In his defense, I'm assuming that was because Lamar, in all his numerical brilliance, was supposed to put the remaining $54.99 on his card, as well as the tip for the entire check.
Lamar left a $5 tip. I made $5 on a $134.99 check. Never leave the math to a stereotype.
I chased them down to the parking lot and asked "Was everything okay with the service?" with a tone that more appropriately intimated "Which one of you wants to offer your head as an appropriate sacrifice?"
All four of the village idiots looked at me with stone-cold stupid stares and ad-libbed "Yeah," "Everything was a great," "Super," like extras on a Brady Bunch episode.
Had it been a group of fundamentally decent human beings, they would have sensed the problem. But no. These four Mensa members dashed off, no doubt heading to another bar to spread their toxic ignorance and breathtakingly bad tips. I can only hope they all died in a car accident, Death Proof style, on their way.
Alas, I'm sure they'll return. And I'll be waiting.
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