Karma: 1 - Sal Paradise: 0 (and a kick in the junk)

As     I started to rant about in one of my prior posts (if not in all of them) is the extended period of time I’ve been a miserable slave to the industry. One of the downfalls of being a bartender or server for so long (besides the fact you no longer have a soul) is the physical impossibility to simply enjoy a drink or a meal at any other establishment and not becoming a cynically critical observer of x, y, and z. What kind of clientele are they dealing with? Are they really weeded on a Monday night while they’re only pushing, maybe, 12 covers? Is she bullshitting about be able to make a good Manhattan?

    Along the same theme of subconsciously critiquing every element of every new bar or restaurant you patron, you find yourself profiling the specific types of guests who enter your bar. When I say that, I don’t simply mean in a prejudice or racist way at all. Granted there are individuals who personally do that, but it’s already a given that anyone that racist in this day and age is already a d-bag, so we don’t need to waste any of our time on them. The profiling of which I’m referring to holds true to the vast majority of bars and restaurant of the same class. Here, for a couple of examples:

    The Grandma/Grandpa: A staple for lunches at most places. Usually travels in packs, normally the ‘gals’ from Wednesday nite Bridge or the West Chester Knitting Association. Service normally includes 104 refills of iced tea and constant restocking of Splenda packets on table. Reason for avoidance: still under the impression that a $2 tip will suffice on any bill (regardless of amount) as long as the server is given the verbal tip (“I just wanted to let you know what an amazing job you did. You were fantastic!) Most all servers will back up the fact that formal praise of a job well done after the duration of a meal, more times than not, leads to gratuity of <10%.>The $30,000 Millionaire: The still wet behind the ears, UT or Bentley finance graduate who is taking out his new, experienced work peers or the wicked hot intern who he’s trying to impress because she’s the only one with less experience than him at the office. This guy really blows because he loves to talk the talk and then walk the walk, per say, by ordering the most expensive shots and drinks and insists on picking up the rather large bill. Normally, that is a great sequence of events because a large bill normally equals a large tip…but not for this guy. Reason for avoidance: His main goal is to impress everyone…except the bartender. His entry level position barely gives him enough financial freedom to pick up the tab, so subsequently, skimps on the tip every time. He can usually be spotted by being the youngest of a group of CEO-looking businessmen. Keep an eye out for JC Penny suits with the price tags mistakenly still attached from when he bought it a week ago, when he got the job.

    The Stripped Shirt Guy: No need to elaborate on this guy. He’s already been dogged on in past posts, with more to come in the future I’m sure. Simply the epitome of a douche bag.

    The reason I bring up the profiling of guests is that I’m personally guilty of doing so as much as any other server or bartender. I had done so in a shift this past week, when a group of Grandma’s walked in to the patio. Naturally, I tired to pull a server out from the main dining room to take them, but nothing doing. Like clockwork, I refilled tea after tea and entertained story after story about grandsons and granddaughters. As the conclusion of their meal neared, I offered to split up their check, as there were five women eating together, and the chattiest catty of the group said there would be no need as she would be treating all of the other gals. I didn’t think much of it, as getting screwed on one large bill is equally as shitty as getting screwed on five smaller bills. As I dropped the one check off to Marie, I would later find out her name to be, she complimented me on my service and how I reminded her of her grandson in Gainsville, who also goes to school. I took this to be the final nail in the coffin. ‘The Gals’ all said their goodbyes and thanks as they left and I reluctantly picked up the bill-fold after busing their table…

Forty-two dollars. FORTY-TWO DOLLARS on a tab of $102 with a hand written note which read “Good luck in school! Thank you so much again (-: Here’s a little extra for books!”

    Arguably the best tip I’ve ever gotten in all my years of slinging drinks and waiting tables, and to think, thirty minutes before I was trying to pawn them off on some server. I have never *ever* received a tip that high in percentage and felt SO shitty in my life.

Karma must be involved here in one of two ways:

    I was the dick who automatically profiled these women as the stereotypical Grandma’s I’ve dealt with in past experiences and ultimately ended up being SO in the wrong, I’ve got some shitty karma coming my way.

OR

    Because I tried to throw these nice older women to someone else, me feeling wicked shitty after receiving a 41% tip is karma’s way of kicking me in the junk and telling me I’m an asshole.

    I’d *like* to believe that my feeling so bad in the aftermath of receiving such generous offer is all the wrath karma is going to throw my way and all my ad karma is said said and done…but I’ve been around to witness the luck I usually get…and from my past experiences…damn…I’m fucked.

You guys have any input?