Whiny Waitress

I don’t want to be someone who judges people.  I don’t want to look at the guests at my table and immediately assume I’m going to get a shitty tip.  I mean, I do it sometimes, but I don’t want to be that person.  I’ve actively been pushing that person away and trying to train my brain to not judge a book by its cover.

Enter my first table tonight.

• Suburban, middle class, white and American.  
• A little less fancy than some we see at the restaurant, but they had all their teeth. 
• They look a little nervous to be here - not a good sign, but I ignore it.  
• They are overly complimenting me on my service - not a good sign, but I ignore it.  
• The guy who ordered the bone-in steak picks up the bone with his hands and eats every last bit of meat off of it - not a good sign, dear God what have I gotten myself into.  
• I drop off the check ($140) and they all pipe down - not a good sign, effffff. 
• I pick up the check after they leave and thank me for the good service and I find… a FIVE DOLLAR BILL.

I don’t want to judge you.  But then there you go, living up to your stereotype and I’M the asshole for profiling.  Straight ridiculous.