How to Charm Money out of a Cheap Bastard

My primary shift at the restaurant was breakfast, except when the coke-addled assistant manager was feeling especially cruel. Special cruelty entailed scheduling me to work a closing shift on Saturday night and returning six hours later to open on Sunday morning.

Another of the manager's tricks was to assign me, a non-smoker, to the smoking section of the restaurant. Except during the above mentioned night shifts. She freely admitted that she was trying to get me to quit. Apparently, she found my complete lack of interest in cocaine, pot, getting piss drunk or having indiscriminate bad sex with one of my co-workers unsettling. The phrase "goody two-shoes" came up frequently in her vocabulary when describing my personality.

As I was young and could honestly use the label "cute" to describe my physical appearance, I attracted a fair amount of attention from the male regulars. This also meant that I was an easy target for harassment. Comments about my looks usually took the form of asking me when I was going to land myself a "sugar daddy" to take me away from the drudgery of waiting tables.

Since physical retaliation was frowned upon, I developed a thick skin and the ability to quickly fire back a suitable insult, cutting enough to let them know they were pushing their luck, funny enough to make them laugh and not forget my tip.

Several mornings a week an elderly gentleman by the name of Jimmy would shuffle into the restaurant to order 1/2 of a breakfast and a cup of hot water for his used tea bag. Jimmy was immune to charm from any person male or female and universally disliked. It was not his personality but his physical appearance. Jimmy liked to smoke cheap cigars and a lifetime of bad smokes permeated his clothes, hair, teeth and hoary nails. But poor Jimmy's greatest crime was that he never tipped the staff.

Jimmy's most frequent sidekick was a truly horrible man by the name of Henry. Henry was mean and passed his mornings chain smoking and making cutting remarks to Jimmy. No one liked Henry, not even Jimmy. Henry did not tip either.

One morning Henry was in an extraordinarily foul mood and decided to direct his abuse in my direction. All morning long, every time I passed the table he was sharing with Jimmy he would make crude comments about my appearance and intelligence. Several times he poked Jimmy and said "Be sure you give the little girl a tip, she'll need them to support herself until she lands herself a husband".

After the fourth time he called me "little girl" I snapped. I put down the dishes I was carrying, looked Henry straight in the eye and said "I think you should be the last person in this place giving Jimmy advice on how to tip since you have not left a dollar a day in your life." As I picked up the dishes and walked into the kitchen I could hear Jimmy's cackling in glee. "She sure told you!" he said to Henry.

Henry sulked for the rest of the morning and never spoke directly to me again.

Jimmy left me a dollar.