The Denny's Chronicles - Tales From the Other Side of the Tray

One night, I had some local kids do a dine and dash in my station.

It was after midnight, and they'd been taking up a six top for several hours, ordering more and more food and picking at it, drinking gallons of coffee and soft drinks. I had other tables to work, but they were, by far the highest maintenance. Eventually, after picking at a pile of food, running me ragged, and making a monumental mess that I'd have to clean up (we bussed our own tables), they ordered desert. Thank goodness!!

I wasn't expecting much of a tip from these twits, because I knew the area too well. Kids from Dunwoody High School were often guilty of classist assery, and in their eyes, a waitress was bottom off the social strata - we were servants and we should feel privileged to serve them. They didn't know I'd graduated from Dunwoody myself, a couple of years earlier, and probably knew their older siblings. All they saw was someone to treat like shit so they could feel better about their vacuous existence.

I was expecting them to pay their tab, however. It seems they had different ideas. While I was putting together the deserts they'd all ordered, they were giggling and sneaking out the door. The door in full view of the galley where I was working. Sneaking out to climb into their BMW and zoom off into the night. Without covering the enormous amount of food they'd wasted, or my time fetching it to them.

Oh, not, not on my shift. I chased their sorry asses down in the parking lot (I guess they figured the fat chick couldn't run. Shows what they know - I was a sprinter in my youth, and was still outrunning out-of-control race cars every weekend), hauled the ringleader inside and called his daddy - right after I called the cops. He tried to pay the tab, but it was too late for him. I wasn't impressed with the Gold Card (or whatever he was waving at me, honestly I don't remember) or the promise of a really nice tip. Nope. I was pissed. The others were stuck without a ride, because ringleader-boy had the car keys, and goddess forbid they walk anywhere, so they milled about the entry calling me names and declaring me "uncool". Whatever - I had never been guilty of being "cool" in the first place and I really didn't care what they thought of me at that point. Damn punks with their nouveau-riche attitude..."My dad's making a million a year so I'm better than you and can treat you like shit, even though I've never done a damn thing to help improve humanity and am a complete waste of oxygen"...Hah!

I refused to let it slide, even when daddy tried to buy me off, tried to talk me out of police involvement. That was par for the Dunwoody course at the time, though - buy your kid's way out of trouble, give them more money to spend and make sure they never suffer the consequences of their actions because they might be uncomfortable for a little while and blame you for their idiocy. Please, be a parent!! Grow a nut, for heaven's sake!! I wasn't being bought, though. Nope. I was just sick of the jack-assery, and I could always sell a kidney to make rent.

Daddy paid the tab with his credit card, in view of the nice officers. Of course, he didn't tip me. Ass. He should have tipped me double and taken it out of the kid's hide, but gods forbid a child should learn to be respectful of others, develop a sense of empathy, and realize that the job does not define the person.

At least the manager backed me - he was just as sick of the punks as I was. The things they did to our bathrooms should have warranted a psychological evaluation at the very least. People scorn truckers and the like, but none of them ever tried to walk out on a tab, stiff a waitress on the tip, or did something unspeakable to the restroom or spouted obscenities at the top of their lungs just to annoy other diners. Nope. That would be the wealthy, privileged kids.

They never came back, any of that group, and we never missed them for a minute.