I went out to eat at a restaurant and was surprised find that a woman whom I recently met at an opera recital was my waitress. Her name was Donna. She was kind of a big gal. When I was introduced to her she seemed a little stuffy, but now that she was waiting on my table she was extremely nice. Not only that, over the course of my meal I found out we had a lot in common. Among other things we shared an interest in detective novels from the forties. She even gave me a list of authors. As it happened, this was Donna�s last day working at the restaurant. Her shift ended while I was sitting there so she hung around a little bit. But I could tell she wanted to go. Not wanting hold her up I hurried figuring out the bill and the tip. Big mistake. I was half way home still calculating the bill in my head when I realized I�d left Donna a real shitty tip. But what could I do? I couldn�t go back, she didn�t work there anymore. The only solution was to get really embarrassed if I saw her again (which didn�t seem likely).
Not long after the whole tip incident my dad died. My ma was on the verge of a breakdown and wasn�t up to going anywhere, much less to the hospital where the old man had died. So I went to the hospital to get his things. When I got to where I was supposed go in order to get his things, I was told by a really bitchy woman behind the desk that I needed a Power of Attorney document. Otherwise my mom would have to pick the stuff up. I was getting fairly pissed-off arguing with her, when out of the blue comes Donna. Seems this was her new job and after I told her my situation, she was eager to help. She grabbed the paper work from the woman and told her she�d vouch for me. Then she took me to her cubical and I waited until she returned with dad�s belongings. I wasn�t prepared to greet the frozen moments my dad chose to carry around everyday in his wallet. The goofy grins my brother and I sported as toddlers, my sister�s ancient prom picture, and the photo of my mother on her wedding day. It was all too much. And yet all the while I was trying to keep from blubbering uncontrollably, all I could think about was whether I should tell Donna how sorry I was about the shitty tip.
Submit Your Review for Dad's Death And A Lesson In Tipping
Required fields are marked with (*). Your e-mail address will not be displayed.
Submit Your Rating for Dad's Death And A Lesson In Tipping