Dear Table of Ten,

Thanks for the $19 tip you left me on your $283 tab.

I don’t know if you’ve fallen on hard times or if you aren’t familiar with the customs of humans, but here in New Jersey (and just about everywhere else in the United States), restaurant patrons are expected to leave a 15 – 20% gratuity for their servers. It’s a part of the dining out experience. Embrace it.

Since you asked for four separate checks, I was able to pinpoint just how cheap each couple at the table was. So, let me break it down:

To the woman who kept complaining there was “too much vodka” in her martini and to her companion who broke a glass I had to clean up (cutting my finger): I’ll use that $2 dollars you gave to buy myself some generic, no-name, grocery store band-aides. Your table made up a quarter of my sales for the night and, with generosity like that, I won’t be able to make my medical insurance payment. So stitches are out of the question.

To the Corona-swilling chainmale sporting unattractive man-cleave – Really? Seven whole dollars, just for me? I waited on you and your angry girlfriend for four hours. That’s not even $2 an hour for services rendered – which, by the way, is about what I earn as a server. That’s right. I’m not making the sweet $7.15 an hour you think I am. That kind of high-rollin’ dough is reserved for the likes of the counter-service personnel at your local fast food restaurant. Maybe you’d be more comfortable dining there next time.

To the change-demanding tease who made me lose my cool and scream like a banshee at your entire cheap-ass table – NO, you don’t get change when you hand your server a hundred-dollar bill and the check is $86 - especially not after I got a exactly $9 from the rest of your loser-friends. Forgive me for thinking that maybe someone at the table was going to tip decently. I would have rather wiped my ass with that $14 and flushed it down the toilet than give it back to you. (And how do you know I wasn’t about to do exactly that until a manager intervened? You could have ass-money in your wallet, sir.) I knew you weren’t going to give me a dime after my little speech. I could be a sick and depraved individual.

I hope, for your sake, that you were visiting from out of town and will not be returning to the bar any time soon. Realize that I have made every server and bartender aware of your poor tipping practices and you will be served accordingly. Do not think that he who has the money has the power. She who serves your food does.

I’ve seen and heard of some sick server tricks in my seven years as a waitress. Enraged servers at the ends of their ropes do far worse than just spit in your coffee. We are a creative, vengeful bunch.

Finally, to the delightful regulars who happened to be sitting at your table, staring in shock and horror as I ranted about customary tipping practices: Thank you, sincerely, for the $10 you left me on your $45 check. It’s a pleasure to serve you. It was completely unnecessary for you to hunt me down and demand I take the rest of the cash you had on hand to compensate for your friends. I didn’t want your money. I want theirs. Your first round of Long Island Iced Teas are on me next Saturday.

— by Jersey Waitress
The Jersey Waitress column is written by a real Jersey waitress who prefers anonymity. Got a story to share? Let us know...

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