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I go to the register, print up his ticket, and set it on his table. He immediately hands me a card without looking at the bill, so I use the tablet at the table to pay for it because I don’t feel like using the computer on the other side of the pub. “Here you are,” I say, handing him a receipt. He tips me fifty percent and I thank him with a big smile.
“Food’s really good here. I’ll leave a nice review,” he comments as he gets up to leave.
“I appreciate that, sir,” I reply.
He leaves and I go into the kitchen to check on the steak tips. They’re ready, so I bring them out to the table. “Here you are.”
The mother waves me off. “I’m full. I’ll take them to go.”
Ew, reheated steak…
“Sure, no problem. Do y’all need any more to-go containers?” I ask.
They shake their heads, and I noticed the daughter hasn’t touched the green beans but the broccoli is gone.What the…?
I box up her steak tips and tell them they can pay on the electronic tablet.
“Why does everything have to be so difficult?” the mother whines. “Can’t you just bring us a bill?”
“Sure thing, ma’am,” I say, flouncing off to print it from the computer. I just need these assholes out of my brewery.
I set it down, telling her no rush, even though I really want them gone. She pulls out reading glasses from her purse and begins studying it like she’ll be tested on it later. I walk away to give her time and am not five steps before I hear, “Excuse me.”
I put my smile back in place and turn. “Yes?” I ask between gritted teeth.
“You charged me for the steak tips,” she said. “They weren’t cooked right. And you charged us for the green beans.”
“Well, she ordered broccoli and then wanted green beans, so that’s two sides, not one. And you did eat most of the steak tips, plus you got another order to go, but I only charged you once for those.”
“No, this is unacceptable. I’m not paying for either.” She lifts her chin and stares at me with a challenging expression.
“No problem, I’ll remove it,” I say, my jaw hurting from my teeth grinding together.
I remove the items, annoyed that I’ll have to put it on my monthly report and then explain it, and bring her back the ticket. She looks it over again, satisfied but huffing about the price of her Coke, then hands me a credit card. I swipe it on the electronic tablet and print out a receipt.
The mother waves me off. “I don’t need a receipt.”
“Oh, this is our copy, ma’am. I just need you to fill it out entirely and sign it for me, if you would.” I hand her a pen and then walk away.
They finally leave, and when I pick up the receipt from the table, the tip amount is 0.00 with a note that reads:Terrible service means no tip. Do better!
To make things worse, they took off with my favorite pen. If the restaurant had been empty, I’d have screamed in annoyance.
I snatch the receipt and stomp over to Carter for some misplaced sympathy I feel I deserve. He reads it and shakes his head. “Stupid bitches. We should ban them from here.”
I snort and shove the receipt into my apron. “Yeah, right. Silverstones don’t allow it. Trust me, I’ve asked if we could start a shit list.”
“Rich assholes,” he mutters under his breath and looks at their table. His face brightens. “Oh, lookie there, they left their to-go box.”
I grin wickedly. “Aw, how unfortunate.”
I quickly snatch it up and then bus the table. I put the steak tips in the kitchen and tell Rick to enjoy his lunch since I know she didn’t touch them. I pluck two out and eat them on my way to wipe the table down.
Just as predicted, the woman comes back about five minutes later while I’m putting my receipts into the cashier drawer.
“Excuse me, I left my to-go box here,” she says, her tone much nicer.
“Oh, did you? I’m so sorry, darlin’. It’s been thrown out.” I smile big because I know she’s going to snap.
