After someone leaves a bad tip, only one thing can redeem my night (short of following the offender to his/her car and verbally indulging my scathing inner monologue). Every now and then, a beacon of hope shines through the pennies left on the table. Bad tippers sometimes forget their personal belongings.
This particularly heinous Armenian woman and her not-so-adorable bearded newborn sat at my table for nearly an hour waiting for an equally Ape-like Persian and her follicly fruitful infant to join them. Once the whole hairy foursome were together, they stayed for an additional two hours, conversing in a mixture of Armenian and spit.
Each time I approached the table to refill drinks or take an order, I was greeted with a look of death, as if I were some sort of unwelcome minority in an otherwise lovely land.
Come tip time, the Evolution revolution left me a rent-paying $3.64 on $66.36. Before the chip on my shoulder and I could refuse their meager tip, they left.
As the bus boy and I were clearing off the remnants, I noticed that cave-woman #1 left behind her scarf. Without giving it a second thought, I immediately took the scarf to the bathroom and pissed all over it. I dried it off just enough for it to not be damp and placed it up front in the lost and found.
Whether or not she came back for her scarf, I'll never know. But the relief I derived from relieving myself on her personal effects is closure enough.