So, next to the worst day of my life happened at work yesterday. The first was the actual day they revoked my scholarship and kicked me off campus. Moving on. A group of my people, black people, comes in to eat at Spencer’s.

Ok, so I’m bending over backwards to get them what they need, ranch, drinks, etc., not because they’re black but because there’s 10 of them and there’s an included gratuity. Two hundred and twenty-five dollars, 10 Patron shots, and ample appetizers later, the matriarch of the group proceeds to tell me…

Pointing at the check, ‘What’s this gratuity of $40 dollars?’

Me, ‘It’s the included tip amount for large parties ma’am.’ Manners.

‘Half this shit we didn’t even drink or eat, and half the time we had to look for you to order, that’s not worth no damn $40 dollars.’

Observing the ravaged through food and empty glasses on the table. ‘Did you have a problem with any of the food and or drinks in particular?’

Still fishing for free stuff, ‘Naw, but I’m saying if the service is gonna be poor and the food gon’ be whatever I don’t think I need to pay no damn gratuity. Where your manager at?’

 At this point I had already conceded the loss of the gratuity simply because the manager on duty was Doug. Doug is a tall thin white guy who has a very thin backbone, but when it comes to different cultures he has absolutely no backbone. When I told him about the situation he slid over to the table, allowed the woman to consistently put a finger in his face and ‘tell him about hisself and his waitress’. Done, and just like that my forty-dollar tip turned in to five. Thanks Doug.

Next, I’m serving a table of four white businessmen. Now, I don’t like to typecast or stereotype at all, but after my previous table I must say initially I was relieved. They all ordered pricey meals and drank top shelf whatever. The bill was at one-twenty; if they were even vaguely generous I should walk with about twenty dollars. It wasn’t forty, but it would suffice considering I had two other tables and was going to be on the floor for another hour or so. Then it happened…

Manner able me, ‘Would you gentlemen like some to-go boxes?’

They laugh and Bif (for the purpose of this story I didn’t know his name so I gave him this one) ‘No, but you’re more than welcome to have at it once we get up.’ This gets another rise.

‘Excuse me?’

‘It was a joke, I know how blacks and Hispanics love to take a plate home, that’s what my friends told me, I’m not trying to be racist.’ Uncouth.

‘Of course not.’ Couth.

They proceeded to make derogatory remarks and I was livid. On purpose I was trying to avoid the table and just pick up the check after they left, but they insisted on sitting and talking in my section for another fifteen minutes. As I passed to tend to another non-racist table, Bif put the check out and insisted I take it from him right then and there. I snatched it as hard as I could. When I got to the back the bill book revealed a forty-dollar tip with a note: Enjoy a real meal and take your seconds home, smiley face. Are you serious? My bad temper got the best of me and I slammed the book, with the tip, down in front of Bif and told him I didn’t need no damn hand out.

Of course Doug called me into the back and proceeded to tell me how under no circumstances should I have done what I did. Doug shut the hell up you punk ass! That’s what I wanted to say, however I acknowledged only that the guys were jerks who shouldn’t have gotten me that wound up. I can say I was glad it was Doug who was there because anyone else would have fired me, however, he simply wrote me up. Great day.

Driving home bumping some India Aire to center myself, I’m still shaken. Eighty dollars, I missed out on eighty dollars! Ok, really seventy, I got five from the first table and I slid five away from Bif as well, but still it’s the principle of that shit! There was only one thing to do, connect with Logan to calm my nerves.

 This week’s episode features music from Soul Star featuring G-Whiz. For more on Soul Star visit www.myspace.com/rocksoulstar

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