I am waiting on a table of three hotties. They flirt, they drink; they’re loud and obnoxious. I keep the happy smile plastered on my face – their check is $300.
As they leave I pick up the check and look at my tip.
Zero. Zip. Zlich. Nada.
I am pissed. The ladies, laughing hysterically, have piled into a convertible parked directly outside the bistro. I go up to them and say,
“I am sorry to bother you but you forgot to leave a gratuity.”
The ladies laugh even harder.
Flummoxed, I repeat, “You forgot to leave a tip.”
The driver just waves dismissively, starts the car, and drives away. I hear their laughter fade into the distance.
Burning up, I walk back inside. I head toward the waiter’s prep area. I grab a cell phone from the pile and dial 911.
“Anytown Police Department – what is your emergency?”
“Yes I would like to report a drunk driver.” I rattle off the make, model, tags and direction.
“We’ll get on it.”
I hang up.
To this day I don’t know if they caught them. Probably not. I never saw them again.
I can be one stone cold son of a bitch.