To insure proper service

To change our usual routine, B and I decide to have lunch somewhere downtown instead of meeting at the coffee place near his work. We’re both hungry, and he knows of a hideaway restaurant that only those ‘in the know’ know about.

After walking a bit, we turn into a street off of Dundas and make our way up a flight of stairs. Inside, the restaurant is humming and buzzing. Most of the large, round tables are filled with patrons. We’re asked if we don’t mind sitting at one of these tables because the smaller ones are occupied. We don’t care and sit down at the one nearest to the bar.

We quickly make our decisions while the server puts down two small cups and a pot of tea. Funnily enough, our orders are almost the same. In fact, my second choice was B’s first pick.

For the next ½ hour, we eat, drink tea, and try to avoid that lull in the conversation that occurs when both people are chewing simultaneously. While this is happening, a series of several servers pass by our table, clean up, remove plates, and replace the teapot.

When we’re finished and it’s time to pay the bill, I walk over to the cash and get my wallet ready. B has already paid for coffee on more than one occasion (and has invited me to dinner), so I think it’s only fair that lunch is on me.

I see the people in ahead of me in line, pay then walk out without tipping. Does anyone tip? I thnk. How strange. Are you not supposed to tip servers? And, if you do, which servers do you tip? All of them? There were about six of them who whisked by our table and I don’t even recall their faces; it was like a sea of black and white starched uniforms.

Fuck, I ain't tipping six people. Their tips will be more than the lunch I just ate; almost twice the amount. Oh, hell to the no.

Before I become a story on Waiter Rant, I pay the bill in a rush of confusion, and walk out of the restaurant with B. I don’t mention anything about the tip, and neither does he. I’m not sure if he noticed, and if he did, he doesn't say anything.

Hopefully, he doesn’t think I’m a cheap bastard. The last thing I want to be is known for this grave and social faux pas. But, there's nothing I can do about it, now.

At least when he treats me to dinner, I won't have to worry about tipping any servers.