12-14-2004, 02:19 AM
It really depends.
If I see a waitress that looks like the overworked single mom type and she's on her last nerve, getting groped, harassed, and getting leftover change for tips, I usually try to fish out what ever spare cash I have. I once tipped a very overworked waitress a hundred bucks. Why? She spilled my coffee. And broke into tears begging me not to complain because she needed the job. She had bruises on her arms, and all the eye makeup in the world couldn't hide her black eyes. This was a bloody long time ago, probably in the 70s. I told her I had no choice to complain, and that she was going to most likely get fired. I told her to get the heck out of town and start over. She did. I still get Christmas cards from her every year.
Snooty bastards get nickles. Snooty arseholes get a tip written on a piece of paper. "Don't eat yellow snow."
I go out of my way to tip those that deserve it. I think I am putting my favourite waitress' kid through college right now at my fave place to eat. She busts her ass to make sure my service is top notch, and usually slips me a few extra chocolate mints. Those Andes mints. She chats with my wife and instead of idle talk, it's meaningful conversation. She knows, with out asking, that when I am wiping my plate with the garlic bread, that it's time to bring the cannoli, my biscotti, and my coffee, just the way "I" like it. And if I raise one finger while she is watching for me to eat my garlic bread, she also brings a quarter of a cherry cheesecake to boot, for those nights when I feel the need to indulge.
If I see a waitress that looks like the overworked single mom type and she's on her last nerve, getting groped, harassed, and getting leftover change for tips, I usually try to fish out what ever spare cash I have. I once tipped a very overworked waitress a hundred bucks. Why? She spilled my coffee. And broke into tears begging me not to complain because she needed the job. She had bruises on her arms, and all the eye makeup in the world couldn't hide her black eyes. This was a bloody long time ago, probably in the 70s. I told her I had no choice to complain, and that she was going to most likely get fired. I told her to get the heck out of town and start over. She did. I still get Christmas cards from her every year.
Snooty bastards get nickles. Snooty arseholes get a tip written on a piece of paper. "Don't eat yellow snow."
I go out of my way to tip those that deserve it. I think I am putting my favourite waitress' kid through college right now at my fave place to eat. She busts her ass to make sure my service is top notch, and usually slips me a few extra chocolate mints. Those Andes mints. She chats with my wife and instead of idle talk, it's meaningful conversation. She knows, with out asking, that when I am wiping my plate with the garlic bread, that it's time to bring the cannoli, my biscotti, and my coffee, just the way "I" like it. And if I raise one finger while she is watching for me to eat my garlic bread, she also brings a quarter of a cherry cheesecake to boot, for those nights when I feel the need to indulge.
All alone, or in twos,
The ones who really love you
Walk up and down outside the wall.
Some hand in hand
And some gathered together in bands.
The bleeding hearts and artists
Make their stand.
And when they've given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy
Banging your heart against some mad buggers wall.
"Isn't this where...."
The ones who really love you
Walk up and down outside the wall.
Some hand in hand
And some gathered together in bands.
The bleeding hearts and artists
Make their stand.
And when they've given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy
Banging your heart against some mad buggers wall.
"Isn't this where...."