Today for my wife's birthday, (which was technically yesterday but we agreed to celebrate today so she could spend time with some person named "Ricardo," all the better for me to pursue my literary gift!) I accompanied her to Denny's and allowed her to order literally anything she wanted off the menu. The waitress came up to take our orders, who I could instantly tell did NOT appreciate the health benefits of artisan-crafted produce. She had skin like an elephant, and frankly looked a little bit like the cryptkeeper. She was abrasive and curt like him, too! She asked for my order, and after pursuing the menu I opted to order the organic lumberjack slam with an extra side of organic sausage. Then I made small talk with Katie, describing the written wonders I was bringing in to being while she dutifully recorded them into her cellular phone, laughing occasionally at my musings and for some reason saying "Oh, Ricardo." She's weird sometimes, but I digress.
Well, when my meal arrived 20 minutes later (how god-damn long does it take to boil an egg, anyways?) I instantly noticed something was amiss. Namely, the meal I had requested was nothing more than four tepid pancakes, dense like concrete and just as warm. Katie hurriedly ate her grilled cheese whilst I ruefully sulked, and elephant woman did not once return to inquire as to whether or not I was delighted by my meal, which I most certainly was NOT. 20 minutes of sulking passed as the waitstaff just hurried past me, eager to bring chicken nuggets to some screaming brat or an "early bird special" to some doddering table of geriatrics. Assuming, of course, that all was well with me when in fact I was highly dissatisfied as was obvious by my sad face.
Katie looked at me, breaking 30 minutes of silence from transcribing my literary musings "Are we gonna go?" Now these neckbeards were frustrating my wife as well. I looked down at the remnants of my pancakes (yes, I had eaten them,) as Katie handed me the credit card and sauntered out of the diner.
Now in this situation, genteel readers, when the waitress is NOT paying attention and the restaurant is busy, it is a simple matter not to pay. You see, the waitstaff makes their money off of tips, and by refusing to tip for poor service, and refusing to pay the company that enabled her faineance, I was taking the ethical, moral and legal high ground. This is the action paradigmatic of what made great Ghandi, Martin Luther King, and other righteous gurus of you're. Based on all the above, and the fact that I realized I could use the money on a party pack of organic Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, I left without paying and without being challenged by the otherwise frantic Denny's staff. But not before snarkily depositing two pennies on the table for the lousy excuse of a waitress. I can be so whimsical, I swear!
As I made my way to my car, I received a text message from Katie "gone to work, be home tonight, don't wait up." She has terrible punctuation, the silly little trollop! Apparently she had gotten a ride from one of her lady friends, as I saw her on the back of a motorcycle on the other side of the parking lot. Superb, further peace and quiet for me. The excellent get what they deserve, and I had an afternoon of contemplative writing ahead of me. Smirking, I looked back at the Denny's. The shameful and lazy also get what THEY deserve, I mused to myself. Karma's a bitch, after all!
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