Waitress
By H.G. Miller
Understand, this IHOP was far from hoppin’.
When my girlfriend and I walked in, there was one bum outside, a small group of high-schoolers drinking malts inside, and three waiters sniffing whip-its or whatever by the front stand.
We were seated promptly – no complaints there – and given menus. As the selections one longs for in the middle of the night at an IHOP are not numerous, we were ready to order when our drinks came out.
The waitress took our order, brought out the food in a timely manner, and then proceeded to lose her tip in the most expedient way I have ever witnessed.
Now, before I move forward with the story, I want to make it clear that I like speedy service. I want my food fast, and I want my check to be ready when I am finished eating. I do not subscribe to the European-inspired notion of relaxed chit-chat after a meal, sipping on coffee and mulling over dessert items.
I want to eat and leave.
That said, I also want to enjoy my meal without a nosey server hovering about like a vulture waiting for my carcass to succumb to life’s pressing march toward death, collapsing on my meal and being whisked away so that another paying customer can pad profits in my place.
It’s a simple formula, really. Give me expedient service and be moderately available for beverage refills and potential choking moments when the Heimlich maneuver would be deemed appropriate.
So, this waitress at the IHOP. I didn’t check my watch, but my best guess is that she waited about 46 seconds before coming back to our table for a chat.
“How’s the food, guys?” she asked in that too-cheerful way that every waiter learns in waiter school.
“Good.” We both mumbled.
“Are you going to be wanting any desert tonight?”
To be honest, I hadn’t really thought about it yet. After three and a half bites of my scrambled eggs, the thought of a double-fudge Sunday just hadn’t entered my mind. I swallowed and took a sip of water.
“No,” I said. “I think I’m good.”
“Great,” she replied, setting the check down in front of me. “Just pay when you’re ready.”
I checked my watch and looked for a sign.
“Are you guys closing?” I asked.
“Oh, we’re open 24 hours,” she told me.
“Are you getting off now?” My date asked.
“No. I’m here all night. Bye.”
Then, she walked out of our lives forever.
My girlfriend and I were stunned. We had barely started eating and had already been told to leave. We spent the next several minutes discussing the possible reasons our waitress might have had to bolt from her duties as our server so fast.
In the end, we couldn’t think of anything, since she spent the next twenty minutes staring into space at the front register. She didn’t even sniff any whip-its to pass the time. Our best guess was that she was just really terrible at her job.
So, I tipped her the 83 cents needed to round out my bill and we went on with our lives, wondering if that was the best tip she’d ever received.