Turning about to meet his dark eyes and inquisitive smile, I responded, "Excuse me?"
His wife eyed me with questioning amusement, a girl-child hoisted upon her waist. Settling into a booth of pale wood, topped with pastel-splash formica, she asked, "Wasn't it your birthday, like, last week or something?"
"Um, a couple of weeks ago, yes."
Grinning wolfishly, her husband asked, "Oh, you mean you don't just say that to increase your tips?"
Denying the instinctive urge to grit my teeth, I replied, "No, it was really my birthday."
"Yeah, we came in with our uncle. Did he give you a silver dollar?"
Oh, yes. I surely remembered that party. Table five, party of four. Upon delivering their drinks, one of the servers popped my backside smartly with her hand, giving me one of many smacks I would receive that night.
"It is my birthday," I had told them, in an effort to justify the unseemly horseplay.
The gentleman, Uncle, had raised his eyebrows. "Really? Why would you want to work on your birthday?"
"Oh, well--I had the holiday off, and it is a relatively short shift. Besides, I like my job."
As I was calculating the check, he approached the counter to pay the hostess. As she ran his credit card, he beckoned me to his side. Handing me a silver dollar, he said, "Happy birthday."
I thanked him profusely and prettily, genuinely grateful. I had a small collection of coins from the world over; this coin would be a happy addition.
"Oh, I do remember--"
Before I could so much as finish, he interrupted, asking in such a way that suggested he might know the answer: "I hope that wasn't all he left you."
I paused, feeling myself flush, my flesh prickling. I had been silent an instant too long, snapping the thread of conversation.
Drawing his own conclusions, he said, "Well, I hope you wouldn't hold that against us."
"Sir," I answered softly, evenly, "I don't operate in that fashion." I straightened, asking, "So, would you like to start with beverages?"
Upon reaching the doorway, leading from the hostess station into the kitchen, I clutched the doorframe, fairly hissing, "Oh, my God--"
Another server and two hostesses crowded about me. "What--what happened?"
I did not answer, only shook my head vehemently.
"Why? What--" I was asked.
"No, it would be bad karma."
"What?! Just tell us," a hostess insisted.
"No--maybe later."
I needed to clear my head, to summon the law of attraction. Like draws like. Of course, I was also reluctant to give them the satisfaction of witnessing any further lack of composure on my part. As the meal progressed, the girl-child--of perhaps two years--grew restless, crying, "Outside, outside."
There was a live band not very far from the rear dining room doors. I knew, as a mother does, that she would appreciate the jumping miasma of sight and sound.
I also knew the parental element needed just a moment or two of peace to finish the reminants of an early dinner and sip the last foamy bits of beer and backwash.
I don't know why I softened. True, I had intended on killing them with kindness--but only because my wounded pride demanded I do so. Yet, I found myself saying, "Look, if you trust me, I can take her out to see the band. You could finish what little you have left in peace."
The mother hesitated, answering, "Oh, surely you are busy with other things."
"I haven't another table. It would be no trouble, and it would give you both some time to yourselves--and her, a little distraction."
Walking about the Dome, it wasn't long before someone commented, "She looks just like you."
I grinned, answering, "Except, she isn't mine."
After a few minutes, I asked the child, "Are you ready to go back to Mommy?"
She shook her head, murmuring, "No, no," and it was difficult for me to smother my delighted laughter.
Later that evening, when I began to recount the story, I said, "It was such an awkward moment. I simply didn't know what to say. I certainly wasn't going to lie--so, I said nothing. Why did he feel the need to bring up his uncle and the silver dollar? I mean, really, why would he mention that?"
"Maybe he thought you'd resent him because he was part of the party."
"I don't know...His uncle paid at the counter. For all he knew, he could have left something more than a silver dollar--" shaking my head--"No, he had to have known. Perhaps it was discussed, or maybe his uncle makes a habit of doing that sort of thing. Besides, I cannot hold him responsible for the behavior of another."
Not knowing was driving me insane. Was Uncle not happy with the services I provided? Did he think me unprofessional because of the birthday smack? Was the food terrible, and he chose not to tell me?
As much as I hated the 'c-word', I had to consider the possibility that he was...cheap.
There. I said it. Cheap.
It feels wrong and dirty to say it. It is a jumble of ungratefulness and bad karma. The just sort of self-fulfilling prophecy to which the law of attraction applies.
To think so negatively seems to invite failure and spawn greediness. I don't want to be construed in that fashion. But to be honest, the 'verbal tip' does little to feed me, nor does a silver dollar.
