We must have frustrated our waitress. We did not order drinks for the first twenty minutes or dinner for another forty-five. Mark asked Pamela about the ingredients for every item on the menu; he needed to be certain that the dish he ordered would not interfere with his many dietary restrictions. He demanded his tea be returned after dinner because they had not preheated his teacup prior to pouring his beverage. Meanwhile, for 150 minutes, he tried (in vain) to charm this young woman (who had to be at least 25 years his junior) with his quick and dry wit which was seemingly lost on a woman more likely to go home and watch EuroTrip for the hundredth time before watching Life of Brian for the first.

She tolerated Mark, but could not feign amusement, interest, or much of a smile. She did, however, remain polite and cordial throughout our encounter.  After our meal was complete, Mark left a standard tip of fifteen percent plus one dollar.

He spent 5 full minutes on her dollar, meticulously folding each crease, making sure it was perfect. He placed it along side our signed credit card receipt, and we left.

Three months later, we were returned to “torment” yet another waitress. As Pamela walked by our table (it was not hers to tend to), she stopped, smiled, pointed and said, “Hey…dollar shirt, right?” Mark, nodded and smiled in turn. “Thank you. I love it. I still have it in my purse.”


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