Okay, I bitch a lot about tippers. But every once in awhile, the ship comes in.
I would like to thank the family who gave me a $62 tip on Sunday.
They just happened to own a family restaurant in Minnesota and they probably know what servers have to put up with, combat pay, so to speak.
You didn’t have to, but it was appreciated just the same.
S. L. Ehrisman (c) 2/2/11
This is a poem about nice man from Mankato who stiffed me Monday night.
It would be one thing if you walked off the interstate with a back pack and a dirty beard.
But when you tell your server that was the best steak you have ever had, and that the service was wonderful, pay with a Benjamin and stiff me (even taking the quarter in change) you obviously have no shame, no life, or both.
I hope you throw that quarter in a wishing well, because you need all the help you can get.
S. L. Ehrisman (c) 1/26/11
I need you to be
more supportive
of my bad decisions
Charles Luden • 1-17-11 • (Musing about my exciting life)
It’s not often I tell customers what I’m thinking, but I have been doing it lately.
I guess I’m just tired of giving excuses. I personally don’t like them, so I afford the same to my patrons.
Like the lady who seemed peeved because I had not got her drink order yet.
I replied, “Well, we have a packed house and I just got triple sat, I was getting around to it. What would you like to drink?”
Her response? 30% tip (I’m guessing for my honesty).
Or the guy who had to tell me 3 freaking times, “To not forget the honey butter for the bread.”
I replied while placing a finger on my forehead, “Yes, it has been seared in my brain, I won’t forget the honey butter.”
His daughter replies, “He doesn’t get out to eat much.”
Yah think?
S. L. Ehrisman (c) 1/18/11
If I Ever Write A Poem About My Car In The Snow This Would Be It
Coffee all ice now
In the drink holder
Fingers blue if I could see them
I could drive south
Charles Luden • 1-13-11 at Michelle’s Coffee
l3wis