Don't Forget to Tip Your Waiter...No, Seriously.

So last night, I'm on the second end of a double at my beloved steak house and I had the (pleasure) of waiting on a (pleasant) newly drafted professional football player. Dr. James Andrews is the premier sports surgeon for college as well as professional athletes, and since his office is in Birmingham, our restaurant has the (pleasure) of serving these celebrities and their friends/associates/posse/buddies from time to time. So there I was, in the enviable position of waiting on an injured rookie from Mississippi, his wife, and his agent.

Well, much to my delight, the rookie asked for two shots of Louis XIII with which to begin the meal. Interestingly enough, this was the first time in my years as a waiter that I have had somebody seriously order this particular drink but I was more than happy to accommodate not only the first round of drinks, but also the second round, which bumped the total of the bill into the rarified air of four-digit (at least for a table of three).

In the process of taking care of this self-proclaimed 'god of the gridiron', I was sat with three tables within 15 minutes, which was a very welcome sight for a late summer Monday night. Now, dear reader, I must inform you that I was proverbially 'on fire' with these tables, selling wine and lobster-tails like they were going out of style. It gives you a certain type of confidence to have a guaranteed big-tipper sitting at one of your table.

If you were reading carefully, you would have noticed a very foolish and misguided word in that last sentence. That would be the word: 'guaranteed'. Nothing in life is guaranteed, and that goes for tips as well- that would be a big goose egg of a tip. In my shock, and at the encouragement of my friend, I did what I had to do (as bad as it may seem), I followed the trio out to their car, which the valet had just brought around.

I walked up feeling like a complete blood-sucking leech and informed all three guests that there had been no gratuity added to the bill. After the initial apology, the mighty man's wife reached into her pocket-book and handed me a 20 dollar bill. Now, for those who have never made a living off tips, $20 on four-digits is not a tip but a slap in the face.

I stood stunned while the cognac-drinking rookie asked me to repeat the total, which I did. Further embarrassed, his wife reached in one more time to hand me 30 more dollars. Again, I stood stunned, feeling the anger boiling to the surface, I walked back into the restaurant, handing the so-called-tip to the valet and our hostesses to get it out of my hands.

I'm not sure how to describe why getting 'stiffed' on a table upset me so much and I know it sounds petty to complain about the eventual $50 with which I quickly parted. I also realize it makes almost no sense that I would be so insulted with the money as to get it out of my hand. I've been dramatically undertipped in the past and that is just part of the business. I've also been insulted by a customer, which is also part of the business. I think the difference yesterday was that I just felt very cheap.

I think there are ways each of us devalue one another everyday. It could be as simple and seemingly harmless as placing our attention on our wants and needs over those of our families and friends. I can feel myself devalue my roommate, at least a little bit, when he is watching rugby or soccer and there's a good baseball game on tv. It is subtle, but when the stuff I want takes priority over those around me, I am every bit as self-important as our aforementioned injured athlete.

Last night I saw a fine illustration. Our football friend only cheated me out of money and a shot to my ego. Let's not cheat the people we love out of more than that.