Poetry, storytelling

Why do I tip bad service?


today my 300-pound waitress
represented the epitome
of bad service

after I finished
my famous
salad bar salad
she brought over my
baked spaghetti

she didn’t bother removing
my salad plate

that would have required a
full 10-foot trek
over to the bus cart

she just kind of slid it
out of the way

I reckon she thought
“It’s a big table,
so why not utilize the space?”

maybe she didn’t think at all

next she further tries my
patience by sweeping the floor
around my table
creating a cyclone
of hair
and particles of no telling what
which had been
tramped in from
the parking lot
and restroom

I refrained from calling her out

I managed to
choke down only
about a third
of my germ-ridden
baked spaghetti

my inner monologue raged

I would speak to the
on my way out

I waited patiently
for her to bring my check

it never came

apparently she was too busy
stirring up
E. coli
and hair
to pay me any attention

as I made my way
to the counter to pay
she reached out
as I passed her
handing me the check

she followed me to the counter
to take my money
as she was not only
a waitress
and cleaning lady
she also served
as cashier

although she had clearly
that bussing tables
was not part of her
job description

I’m all gonna stiff
the fat bitch

when I handed her a twenty
she rambled through
her apron pockets
for my change
I muttered “keep it” and
the establishment

I want a refund for those
assertiveness classes.



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