Dear Table 55,
What the fuck was your fucking problem? Sure, you had that trailer park glow, but everything seemed fine until I dropped off your food and offered you freshly ground pepper. You looked at the pepper mill like it was a fucking unicorn. “Wow!” You said. “Where do you get one-a those?”
Uh, I don’t know, pretty much any place that sells stuff.
Then you took my pepper mill. And made a joke about stealing the pepper mill. Every time I walked by, the goddamn pepper mill was in a different place. Then you hid the pepper mill.
“Hey, guys, where’s my pepper mill?” I asked you.
And you laughed. Boy, did you laugh! It was so funny! You hid my pepper mill! After you were talking about stealing it! Hahahaha!
“So, how much do these things cost ya anyway?”
Really, we’re still talking about this?
“Um, I’m not sure, but it’s not for sale.” I say to you.
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks!”
“Ah, c’mon! That’s a little much!”
“Sir, it’s not for sale.”
“Ok, ok! We’re just teasing you! Hahaha! We’re just kidding! You can bring us the check now!”
Ok. I drop the check, still no pepper mill in sight, but you’re both grinning like idiots, so I figure you’re still “teasing” me. What fun.
You walk up to pay your bill, and as the transaction is going through, you thank me and tell me you don’t need a reciept, and walk away.
My eyes instinctively look at the tip and I mentally prepare myself for the letdown. But wait. A 40% tip? No way, something is just not right.
You stole my fucking pepper mill, bitches!
I raced to the front, caught you and accused you as you were exiting the restaurant.
You looked at me like I had accused you of molesting my dog.
“We didn’t take ANYTHING, we left it under the table!!!”
Under the table? Do you think I’m slow?
Fine. I let you go, but I knew damn well you stole the damn pepper mill.
So, Table 55 you can go fuck yourselves with your shiny new pepper mill, and know that when you’re white trash and tip 40%, I know you stole something.