The United States is an odd country. We like going out, for
brunch, lunch, or something to crunch. Here it might seem that home really
isn’t the only happy place. Going out is very act that gives us the most
pleasure and it is based on an army of service folks who depend on gratuities
for their survival. This practice is distant to foreigners, as in many
countries it is rude to tip.
I’ve always tipped well. Maybe too well for my own good, feeling
empathy towards the underpaid waitstaff. It irks me when I see someone standing
at the doughnut counter and pays with a debit/credit card and doesn’t think to
tip, or the person who orders a complicated drink. Yes, I never thought I would
put those two words together, but it’s these aesthetes of liquids who usually give
the wearied person poor tip.
So, starts the lottery section of my tale. On a sweltering
hot summer’s day a few years ago, I found myself at the grocery store. My mode of
transportation at that time was an old New York state police cruiser.
Keep in mind there was not ONE car in the parking lot, save
for one out-of-state car parked in the fire zone (*&^%%$*). Yes, I’m
swearing, that practice drives me crazy. Entering the store’s coolness, there
were at least thirty people in the store, all at the donut counter, milling about
like bees around a freshly blooming flower. I reluctantly took my place in
line.
With a fast deduction on my part, all these people seemingly
were together and ALL of them ordered complicated drinks. The staff of three
was frantically trying to fill the orders. At least half of the orders declared
“wrong” with a snit. The drinks were then dumped, which resulted in the unfortunate
waitperson starting over from scratch. When the orders were complete, a
gray-haired guy stepped up and paid for the 66 plus dollar tab settled with a
credit card. After twenty minutes of complete chaos, everyone exited, and NO
TIP WAS LEFT!
I felt badly for the staff. It was cool in the store, but
all three had beads of perspiration dripping off their brow due to the
cacophony that just ended. Without incident, my medium $2.30 black iced coffee
was ordered, paid out of a 5-dollar bill and signaled to the girl to keep the
change. I also thrust a twenty-dollar bill into the tip jar, feeling a little
anger towards the wild crew that just left.
As I made way out into the heat, I noticed that the gray-haired
head honcho of the mayhem was getting into the car parked in the fire zone and
all the others were boarding a small bus on the side of the building. As Mr. No-Tip
entered his ride, a twenty-dollar bill floated to the ground under his feet. As
soon as his door shut, the car zoomed out of the parking lot with the gusto of
a newly launched cannon ball, with the bus in hot pursuit.
The top of my car made a very scalding hot place to set my
drink on, and fiddled with my keys to unlock the car’s door. I noticed no one
was around the dropped money, I looked around and scooted across the hot
pavement and picked up the loot. Still scurrying, with intermittent twinges of
guilt, I headed towards my quickly warming iced drink. Then I had a flash of
stupidity, I trotted back into the store.
I told the musically distracted young man behind the counter
my tale, how I acquired my new wealth. He smiled, offered up an air fist bump
and an enthusiastic exclamation of “Dude!” He suggested a 20-dollar scratch off
ticket and when the transaction was through, I stole off with my newly found
riches.
Still furious at the non-tipping jerk, I parked under a
shade tree in one of my favorite nesting/day dreaming/napping places. By this
time, my mind played karmatic solutions on ways to get even with the whole
crew. Shrugging those off, and carefully scratching the ticket, I discovered I
had a $100 winner!!!
Making my way to yet another gas station, I asked the clerk
if she could cash the ticket for me. Unfortunately, she said, she had just made
a cash drop and could not cash the ticket. Thinking quickly, I asked if she had
forty bucks and offered to exchange the ticket for two thirty-dollar tickets
and the cash. She could, so I did, and was off.
Picking another cool shady spot, in my now blazing hot
car, and my now hot coffee, I scratched the first ticket. Nothing won. Sparing
the reader excessive suspense, the second ticket was a five-hundred-dollar
winner. Five HUNDRED dollars.
To recap: I left a twenty-dollar tip, found twenty, spent
twenty, won one hundred, spent sixty to win five hundred. $540 isn’t bad for a
hot afternoon’s banana/hemp milk trip.
The moral of this story is, yes maybe there is karma.
Instant Karma, as John Lennon once sang. The other moral is TIP YOUR SERVICE
PEOPLE!!! Maybe in a strange twist of fate, on a hot Saturday afternoon in July,
the Universe will reward you.
