We, as restaurant minions, rely on the steady flow of hungry stomachs and harried schedules to make our living.  We exist in a world without benefits, sick pay or overtime and we stand for hours on our feet, often without a break.  Yet when you walk in, we plaster a smile on our faces and bend over backwards to accommodate your whims and desires.  We cater to your real and phantom dietary needs, remember your dog’s name and keep on eye on your children as they wreak havoc around us.  And there are those of you who recognize this, who acknowledge that we strive to make things run smoothly so that you may relax and let others feed you.

Then there are those of you, the bastard tippers out there, who feel entitled to belittle us, who treat us as little better than serfs and even seem to enjoy it.  If you were President of the UN or some exotic sultan of Agraba, I’d deal with it; not because you were inherently better than me but at least then I’d understand why you acted like such an elitist, pompous ass.  Usually though, that’s not who you are.  Usually, you are some mid-level banker or a disgruntled housewife whose Starbucks habit has nearly drained her monthly alimony and for some reason unbeknownst to all us restaurant workers, you feel superior to us and will go out of your way to win this little power struggle you’ve concocted in your feeble mind.  I choose to work in restaurants for a number of reasons: the flexibility, the cash on hand available and because restaurant environments are generally fun to work in.  Yet don’t think for an instant that because I wait on you, you are inherently better than me.  I have a college degree, I graduated at the top of my class and there’s a lot more going on behind this smile of mine than you might suspect.

So for those decent tippers out there, thank you.  Thank you for realizing that what we do is not always easy.  For those of you who’ve erred on the side of tipping, there’s always redemption, but know this~I may not spit in your food, or purposely drop your silverware on the floor or do a plethora of other nasty things I could think of because that is beneath me.  But I will remember your face and I’ll be sure to tell everyone else that I’m working with what kind of person you are and the next time you come in, you most likely won’t get that smile or such prompt service.

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