An Open Letter to the Couple Who Stiffed me Last Night

Dear Cheapskate and Girlfriend,
Last night, when you came into the brewery where I serve, you seemed friendly enough, and I therefore was very welcoming to you. I was more than happy to serve you even though you were somewhat difficult, and I had my doubts when you based your drink order off of what came with a free refill. So I took your order, grabbed your drinks from the bartender (who I later tipped out for his service) and served you the $15 appetizer you ordered, followed by your $11 and $15 entrees, all the while refilling your drinks. When the hostess told me that it was your girlfriends birthday, I went out of my way to get you a dessert, and find a manager to comp it to you. I then spent about five minutes looking for a candle for the dessert. When it came time for you to leave I again went out of my way to help you, by grabbing enough to-go boxes for the piles of food you ordered and didn't eat. I printed the check and left it with you, telling you to have a great night. You smiled and thanked me for my time. Your bill totaled $45.81, but had the dessert you ate not been free, it would have been over $50, which should have resulted in a $10 tip due to the excellent service you received, from everyone to the host who greeted and sat you to myself to the busser who cleaned up your mess. On the tip line on the credit slip; however, you wrote "Fantastic service but we college kids are poor. Thank you thank you" and you stiffed me. I have more than one qualm with this situation. First and foremost, I as well am a college student and the tips I receive while working pay my bills. Great story but do you think that your compliments can be put towards my rent payment? It is true that I receive an hourly wage, but I do not see a dollar of that $3.90 as it all goes toward taxes. So really, your tips are what put food on my plate. What- did you think I'm waiting tables because I'm a rich college kid? Second, each and every minute I spent with you, putting your food into the computer, or refilling your drinks is a minute I lost on my other tables- ones which did in fact tip me- twenty to twenty-five percent actually. Had I not been wasting time on you, perhaps their tips may have been even more. Third, you probably assume I just didn't make money off of you, but I actually lost money because I tipped out the busser $2.57 to clean your table. Oh no- they don't work for free either. You left that note on my slip with no amount of shame or guilt. And while a ten dollar tip does not make or break my evening per se, imagine if everyone who walked in those doors had the same horrible thought process as you. Tipping your server is not just something nice to do, it is a social norm. you were right with one thing- my service was fantastic, and deserving of at least a 20% tip. So in the future, if you'd like to eat out, here are some suggestions: Skip the $15 fondue appetizer, spend $10 of that on a tip, and pocket the other $5. Or go to Del Taco. They have an awesome $.99 menu, none of which requires tipping the person handing you your food. Or even forfeit the $5 of drinks you ordered, get water, and tip me 10%. Any of the above options would have been much less of a waste of my time, and made you look less of an ignorant prick.

Sincerely,
Brooke

No really mom... don't read this

Oh my god I'm hungov.... fuck no I'm not, I'm still drunk. I am still very drunk. It's got to be six in the morning. Maybe even earlier. I glance at the clock. 10:30. This isn't right. My last memory before going unconscious is saying "Shit guys, we need to go to bed. The sun's up!" Maybe this is right. I look down. I'm wearing.... a bikini?! Why on earth am I wearing a bikini? Does anyone know what this means? My clothes stayed on all night! I look over; Kevin is snoring. Wait, why the fuck is Kevin in bed next to me? Slowly but drunkenly, it all comes back to me.

I get off work around eleven and head home to let Misha out. I am exhausted and covered in food. Mmmm leftovers. I am in bed, when, a little before midnight, my phone rings. It's Kelly, seeing if I want to go out. I tell her I'm not really up for a party and she informs me that there will be a small get together at Daniel's for hot tubbing with all the people we work with. Ok, I'll be there in ten. I get to the house a little after twelve and open my first beer. I drink in about two minutes and feel it instantly. Oh, right. I just ran my ass off for five hours and have nothing in my system. So I drink another beer. And another. Someone decides we should play kings cup. I'm not sure who it was, but they're a genius. We play a few rounds, none of which we actually finish, and as more people are starting to show up, we decide to go outside. People keep arriving with beer. This is awesome. I'm wearing my bikini under my sundress and at some point lose the dress. Eh, at least I've got the bikini on. We're in and out of the jacuzzi like kids with ADD when I see someone smoking a cigarette. I hate cigarettes with a passion and I'm instantly annoyed by people who smoke them, but I want one, and I want one now. I smoke an entire cigarette and love every puff. I continue to smoke four more. Not knowing what do do with the combination drunk and cigarette high, I head back inside for another round of kings cup. I sit down and play for a bit, but start to get cold so I wander outside to find my dress. On my way out, I kick over a beer can. I bend over to pick it back up, and instead pick up one that is already upright, hold it for a second, then proceed to set it back down. No need to thank me guys, I'm here to help. Daniel laughs at me and tells me I picked up the wrong can. I'm confused, but I bend over and in the process of picking up the overturned can, I knock over the upright one. After continuing this process for several minutes, I'm over it. I find my dress soaking wet and ask Daniel where the dryer is. I throw my dress in and return to the kings cup. At a table full of coworkers, including Kevin, Danny, Tony, Jared, Daniel, Kelly, and Kelly, I take advantage of a moment where everyone is looking away, and flash Kelly. It's official. I am making good, well thought-out decisions. A while later, I convince Kevin that I need help getting my suit from the dryer, and lead him to the laundry room, where I go on to, as he so romantically put it, jump him. We make out for a bit- whether it was thirty seconds or half an hour, I have no idea, until Daniel comes into the laundry room. Oops. I leave, and tell Kelly I'm going home. She let's me know I'm not going anywhere, and that she's got a bed set up for me. I tell Kevin the plan. Three times.
I go to bed, and completely pass out, sprawled across the whole thing. I'm not sure how or when Kevin made it to bed, but I'm grateful he's a gentleman.

The next day at work, Daniel sees me for two shifts. He asks if I'm working a double and I nod. "Why the hell didn't you mention that last night?"
"I don't know. I was drunk!" Shit I'm still drunk. The next night I'm at work, talking to Tory, a manager, who says "So I hear you've been paying attention to Kevin lately." Dear God, I quit.

This is it.

I guess this is what it's like to be at the end of my rope. I didn't raise my voice, didn't insult him, and didn't get openly upset. I told him how I felt, that I wasn't going to be his once in a while girl and asked him to leave. I don't have a switch and I don't change modes on command. He doesn't either he says. Though I'm going to say my lack of mode switching trumps his- I'm trying to focus on consistency and he thinks he can just changes tones with me.... Earlier today he came over and laid in my bed and wouldn't let go of me. Rubbed my entire body, told me he loved me, and kept kissing me. I asked if he wanted to spend the night and he said yes. So he came over tonight, said he didn't know if he was staying or not, but that we could hang out. So we watched a movie and he didn't touch me. Didn't look at me. Did a total 180 from earlier. I paused the movie and asked what was going on. He said it wasn't me, it was him. Yea that's a shocker- I'm the one who has my shit together, there's no way it's me. I told him that I can compromise with what we're doing but at the same time I don't do the back tracking thing. I can be friends or I can act like his girlfriend but I refuse to go from playing one role at 1:00pm to the other at 11:00 that night. I told him if that's what he wanted then he needed to find a booty call because I don't play that game. He got all huffy and defensive and said he wouldn't have that conversation and that he was leaving. Go right ahead asshole, you know where the door is. I waited til he was gone to get up and lock it behind him. If he thinks I'll wait around forever, he's in for a shock. I'd warn him but he'd take it as a threat and get pissed off again. The boy always did realize what he had just a little too late.

Why I'm single

So I met this guy at work a while ago. Not that cute, actually came off kind of bible-thumpery. Go figure. But I was working and didn't want to be rude, so I talked to him. Huge mistake. Here's how the conversation went:

"Is there something in your teeth? I think there's something in your teeth. Are your teeth clean?" He's staring intently at my mouth, and I'm offended.
"There's nothing in my teeth, " I snap, glancing at a mirror. "What in God's name makes you think it's socially acceptable to ask a question like that to a perfect stranger?"
He's not even phased by my taking offense to his being there. "Calm down, I'm just trying to figure out what you're all about. Sorry."
"Don't worry about it, just don't expect to find a self-respecting girl asking questions like that."
"What makes you think I want a self-respecting girl?"
I just stared at him. "I'm sorry. Do you want a girl who doesn't respect herself?"
He hesitated, confused at my question. "Well, I mean, it would be nice I guess to have a girl who respected herself, but I think it'd get boring after a while."
I continued to stare at him, dumbfounded. He tried to backtrack. "You have to understand, I'm from California, where no girl respects herself."
I actually laughed. "Funny, because I'm from California and have nothing but respect for myself. So you should probably stop talking to me now."
"Really? where in California are you from?"
"No. Really.The conversation has ended."
"Oh." He looked sad. "Do you have a friend you could set me up with?"

The Safeway Story: Chicken Meets Monkey at 2100h

This actually took place back in October, on Halloween to be exact, but the story itself is so epic that I figured it still needed to be published in some way or another. Hell, the monkey will at least be grateful; he wants this story to go down in history, but his poor monkey brain is so foggy from that night that I'm not sure he could be the one to make it happen.

It's about 7:00 and I'm writing a paper due at midnight. Who assigns papers due on Halloween in college, I'm not quite sure. I have to think that he didn't have a lot of friends during his college days, and is therefore punishing us. I'm actually on a roll for once when my phone rings. It's my boyfriend, Billy, and I'm surprised he's calling so early.
"Hey babe, what's up?"
"Heeeeeey! Baby can you do me a favor and drive me to Safeway?" He's slurring. I hesitate and ask why. He tells me because he and Matt can't drive since they just did fourteen shots each. Of hard liquor. Fourteen. Holy fuck, I'll be there in five minutes.
I get to his house in record time to find him in his living room. In a giant monkey costume. With a cape. And motocross goggles. I turn around to see Matt flying down the stairs in a giant chicken costume. Also wearing a cape. This is going to be a long night. I explain to him that while I love him very much, I have a paper due in four hours and can't babysit tonight. I specifically say that I don't have the patience to pick him up and drag him upstairs if he's passed out on the floor. He assures me this will not be the case and promises not to slip into any mode of retardation.
Billy convinces me that it is imperative that we make a trip to Safeway, right now. I ask what he needs and he, proud as a first grader who aced his first spelling test, produces a grocery list from somewhere inside the monkey suit. The list includes a number of items including dog food, glade scented oil, yogurt, bananas, grapes, eggs and drano, among others. So the three of us pile into the truck, Billy yelling directions from the backseat behind his goggles. I know where we're going, sweetheart. I'm way too sober for this.
We go to the store and Billy immediately starts pushing Matt through the store in a cart, ramming into everything within a mile. We find the Glade section and Billy knocks over an entire display. He's losing his motor skills, fast. I apologize profusely to the woman working, as the look on her face clearly states "I don't get paid enough to put up with this." I know ma'am, neither do I.
I start rushing the trip, realizing that both boys are only going downhill as the booze hits their system. We lose Matt somewhere in produce, and Billy volunteers to find him. How noble of you, honey.
"Chicken? Bgack! Chiiiiiiiiiiiicken! Where are you?! Bgaaaaaack!" He's yelling now and people are starting to stare. Shit, I would be too at this point. We find Matt in the dairy aisle, surrounded by a group of my sorority sisters, holding a carton of eggs. He's giggling and we can't understand why until the girls explain the irony of a chicken holding a carton of eggs. Spare me. So we collect Matt, the eggs, and the rest of the groceries and go to pay.
We get to the car, and Billy, ever the gentleman, tries to load up the truck. Emphasis on tries. While I'm returning the cart he somehow manages to get the carton of eggs and bag of grapes stuck under the rear wheel.
"How the fuck did you run over something already? I have the keys!" I'm more impressed than annoyed at this point. These guys are some sort of special.
We get home and they unload the car, which consists of throwing entire bags or groceries into a pile. I put everything away, and go to find Billy. I'm standing in the hallway, and he walks by, actually bumps into me, and still doesn't notice I'm there. He sits down on the couch, takes off the monkey mask, and proceeds to stare at the wall. I'm about to ask if he's ok, when, in one fluid motion, he passes out whilst sitting and slinks into a heap on the floor. I give Matt the reserved annoyed girlfriend look, and we carry Billy upstairs. Matt leaves me alone to undress him and I finally get him settled into bed.
"Honey do you think you need to throw up?" By this point he's at least conscious again. Sort of. He shakes his head, mumbles that he's fine and starts retching. Shocking. I get him to the bathroom, at which point he's hugging the toilet for dear life, and he starts puking. Everywhere. I get him back to bed half an hour later and ask how he's doing.
"Es tut mir Leid. Ich liebe Sie." Oh right. He gets drunk and turns German. How could I have forgotten? I rub his back and ask if he understands that he's speaking in German. He gets annoyed. "Ja."
"Ok love. And you understand that I speak English?"
"Nein!" I pause, waiting for English. It never comes. He goes off in a stream of German, which I'm sure is utterly profound and should be recorded. I give it about twenty minutes and come back. He seems more coherent, and at this point is speaking English but still throwing in German terms. I ask why he hadn't been speaking English earlier.
"I don't know. I thought you understood Deutsch! Warum sprechen Sie Deutsch nicht?" We go back and forth for about fifteen more minutes before I give in, give him a kiss and tell him to go to bed. I crawl in bed later and he doesn't move, until he wakes up around six and hugs me. "Baby I'm so sorry." If you only knew.

So this is a blog, huh?

I guess I've had blogs before. Everything from myspace to facebook to livejournal back in the day. I'm sure I'll be over this in a matter of months too. Or maybe I'll be discovered for the mediocre writer I truly am and get offered a book deal, negating all financial worries I've been losing sleep over.

Here's my problem du jour.:I live down the street from my ex who I'm realizing, many months too late, I'm still in love with. Needless to say my first plan is to move. I have to drive past his house to get to mine, and even if I'm not looking for it, it's hard to miss when his lifted Silverado is there, or worse yet, when it isn't there. I get that I come off as a stalker- for the record, I'd be happy to never see him or the black beauty ever again. To say it's difficult to get him off my mind when I see him every day is along the lines of saying that Tucker Max enjoys sex.

Living down the street from Billy was the farthest thing from a problem until we decided to be friends and go to lunch. So here's my advice to anyone who wants to be friends with anyone who they still have feelings for/ are attracted to/ miss in any way, shape or form: run away. No really. They might as well have one or more of the forms of hepatitis. Going to lunch was great until we realized we still had the chemistry. And could still finish each others sentences. Awesome. A week later I was lying in bed around two in the morning when I heard my name being yelled in my front yard. Billy, the ever romantic, had killed off a bottle of southern comfort (to himself) and wanted to say hi. Dear lord I have got to move. We eventually got together to talk and he dropped the mother of all bombshells on me. Told me I'm the love of his life and he plans on spending the rest of said life with me... just not right now. I'd be lying to say this doesn't bother me, but I am much prouder than to wait around for one idiot to realize what he's throwing away. I wrote him a letter; poured my heart and soul into actually, and showed it to a few friends. One even got teary-eyed and told me he wished that letter were written for him. Don't we all Kev. Don't we all. Billy on the other hand, true to his nature, had the audacity to get mad at me for not being patient enough. To clarify, he doesn't want to be together until his life is set straight, including making sure that his new business is off the ground and running. Last time I checked that kind of thing takes years. Good call there, love.