The Verbal Tip

I have an embarrassing admission: I really like waiting tables. I have the feeling that when the time comes, a year from now to give it up and start teaching full time, I’m really going to miss it. Waiting tables gives me the rush I used to get selling cars, without so much time commitment. I get to sell, talk to people, make them laugh on a good night and hopefully send them out the door grinning ear to ear in less than two hours.

And just like selling cars, my income is dependent on how well I do my job. If I sell a more expensive bottle of wine, appetizers, salads and entrees; force feed them dessert and convince them that no Italian meal is complete without grappa, I make a larger tip. In theory that is. Some nights, it’s just not the case.

It’s the nightmare of any server. The table is happy, they’re laughing, telling you how great you are. It might be a little more work than you really want; it’s not always easy to keep the charm on when I’ve been up and down a flight of stairs for the thirtieth time. Underneath the vest and bowtie, I’m probably a sweaty mess, and hungry. So hungry. The smile sticks though, and soon we’re sharing stories about college or kids or whatever their hearts desire. I may tell them I’m a student, or a teacher, sometimes I tell them both. I offer a white lie here and there to join in conversation; mention non existent boyfriends, cats I don’t actually own anymore, and dating horror stories. Mostly those are true.

I sang the “Miss Suzy had a steamboat…” rhyme to David Schwimmers assistant one night; she was desperate to remember it and I just couldn’t resist. Explained why “Paranormal Activity” was terrible for the first hour and then great for the last half hour to Wonder Woman and a Congressman, after she said “Ask Liz, she’ll probably know and have a good story about it too!” I did.

It’s all worthwhile, usually. I see my effort reflected in the wad of cash in my pocket at the end of the night. But then, there’s always that one table that thinks somehow the good time THEY gave ME is enough, and drop ten percent on their bill. They do it with a smile, saying sweetly “We’ll be back and we’ll ask for you!” I return the smile, tell them I appreciate it and look forward to seeing them again.

Then I open that folder, and see what they have done.

They left me a verbal tip.

I want to follow them down the street, tap them on the shoulder and tell them that their good time does not in fact pay my bills. I can’t pay rent on my charm; my leasing company is pretty intent on actual money. My car doesn’t run on giggles, and all the compliments in the world will not keep me warm in the winter.

I can’t do that (and keep my job), so I do the next best thing. I slink over to the computers where there are always at least one or two co-workers who will sympathize with me. It’s happened to all of us at one time or another. I open that folder, and place it in front of them.

“Ouch, that really sucks.”

“Damn Verbal Tips. They better not ask for me next time they come in.”