A surprising incident on a Sunday night

I've really wanted to write this for a while now, but I haven't had the time to actually sit myself down and write it, so here it is.

I work as a waitress. It pays the bills, allows me to build up some arm muscles by carrying plates, and gives me insight on the curious humans that walk the Earth with me. This particular group that sat at one of my tables several Sunday nights ago were an interesting bunch. They consisted of two young women and a man who looked slightly older than them. He wore a huge gold chain necklace and sat one on side of the booth, while the ladies sat on the other side. The women wore deep cleavage-baring shirts; happy Sunday! I couldn't tell if one of them was with the guy, if they were both trying to woo him, or whatever. They all nursed Hennessy and Cokes. The guy ordered sushi, which I found surprising because he had mentioned that he'd never tried sushi before. He did go with the California roll, a safe choice: no raw fish, and the familiar mayonnaise-like taste and texture are easy to handle. One of the girls also ordered sushi, and the other girl outdid them with a huge steak.

Is any of that interesting? Anyway...

They were friendly to me and drank a lot over the course of the evening, their bill totaling to just over $200. I figuratively rubbed my hands together in glee, anticipating at least a $30 tip. After I dropped the check on their table, I eagerly watched the gentleman count a large number of $20 bills. Ahhh, I breathed with happiness, Cash. Having waited tables, cash now makes me really excited. Gross, right? It's because cash tips aren't taxed, whereas the credit card tips have taxes deducted from them before going into my bank account. Whenever I see cash, I'm like, Awww, yeah. It's a crude life that I lead.

I approached the table, tossed them a huge smile and picked up the check and the pile of cash. "I'll bring you back some change!" I beamed, but before I could walk away from the table the guy grinned at me and replied, "Keep the change." Oh, love it. I love the classic, sassy, I'm-richer-than-you "Keep the change." It makes me feel a little bit like a prostitute, but I like it. Yeah, I'll keep it. I'll keep it real nice. Thank you, sir.

I thanked them, wished them a good night and smiled brightly as I walked away. Returning to the computers by the kitchen, I fervently counted the cash. Oh, it was gorgeous. Twenty dollars, forty dollars, sixty, eighty, one-hundred...gorgeous, crisp $20 bills...

That's strange. I counted again. No way. I counted again. Yup, it was true. The asshole had left me $210 on a $200 tab. Actually, the tab was like $201.78, so really he'd left me about $8.

I sauntered over to my manager and showed him the cash. He counted it. He looked like someone at a Vegas casino, counting it and fanning the bills out in front of him. "What table was this?" he asked me, his eyes wide. I told him the table number, and he peered over his shoulder. Shaking his head, he handed me back the money. "Yikes. I'm sorry."

I stuffed the cash into my book and groaned. Come on. Eight dollars. Two hours of time for eight dollars? What is my life? Things would be so much easier if I were a toilet paper heiress. But before I could sink into total self-loathing, one of the girls from the table approached me.

"Hey," she said. "Did he only give you $210?"

Shocked, I looked past her to the table. The guy had gone to the bathroom. "Um," I said. "Yes, he did."

"I thought so," she shook her head. "I'm sorry about that. Here." She stuffed a $20 into my hand and turned away.

I was moved. I didn't know what else to think, except for That was a nice thing to do. She could've just let her man (or whoever) give me $8 and turn a blind eye, go home and go to sleep and forget the whole thing. But she waited until he went to the bathroom, opened her wallet, took out her own money and sought me out. Maybe she didn't even consult her friend. She wanted me to have that dumb $20 bill.

When the guy came back from the bathroom, I returned to the table, still touched by this girl's kind act. As I tried to find some way to thank her, I smiled and took away their napkins and empty glasses. "Hey," said the guy. With his dirty napkin draped over my arm, I looked at him, my mouth frozen into a grin. What came next is still a mystery to me.

"You like that tip?" He asked me. What the hell? "You like it? Was that OK?"

I didn't know how to respond. I just smiled. What was he talking about? Did he realize he gave me an $8 tip? Did he think that was generous on a $200 tab? Did he mean to leave me $250 or something? What?

I continued to smile. "It's because of that gorgeous smile," he continued. "You earned a tip like that."

I had to speak words. "Thank you, sir," I replied. "Have a good night." As I turned away, I caught the eye of the girl who'd given me the $20. She, too, had a frozen grin on her face, to match mine. I took one last look at her and tried to communicate my thanks before heading back to the kitchen. I imagine she left a few minutes later, and in the car ride home, thought to herself, "Man. This guy has no idea."