double grat
I think that all highways should have a special lane just for impatient drivers. No 18-wheelers, no Geo Metros, no moving trucks … heck it won’t even let you in the lane unless you’re doing 80. Like a one-lane Autobahn. To be allowed entry into the Jackass Lane, your car would have to register with sensors somehow that you’re not eating, talking on the phone, and simultaneously sewing a button on your pants, which I’ve been known to do. For all my complaining about bad drivers, I’ve actually tried reading a book while driving on a roadtrip. Buckle up, kids.
When a driver hops in the middle lane and decides to go about 30 mph under the highway speed limit, cars zing around and rejoin traffic ahead of him. It’s an unavoidable part of American driving, a phenomenon known as the Old Guy Wind Tunnel. You can never be quite sure if he’s blissfully unaware that he’s a road hazard (maybe he’s back there doo-doo-bopping along while listening to Glenn Miller on AM radio) or if he’s actually performing aerodynamic studies with his vehicle. Or maybe he’s trying to kill everybody. Either way, it’s a huge pain if you’re in a hurry to get somewhere. I’m all about me me me.
I was headed to work a couple weeks ago, and in normal fashion, I’m acting like my truck is the bus from Speed and I can’t go under 55 for any reason. In the distance, I see a guy jump into my lane and just barely escape being trapped into the exit to the airport. But instead of speeding up to catch up with traffic, he’s tooting along at 35 mph. He makes me slam on my brakes to avoid punting his wee car like a soccer ball with my big blue truck. Instinctually, my evil-Clark-Kent side kicks in and I rev the truck and fly into the next lane to get around him as I lay on the horn. To my horror, I realize that I know the guy — He’s a manager where I work. I make a lame attempt to shield my face, but he saw me long before. I still get teased about that one at the office, and I certainly deserve it.
In the waiter world there is a rare occurrence known as the Double Grat. This is a special and magical event, where the planets align just right and you get a good-sized tip from a big group. You see, big groups take up a whole section, nobody tips for their kids (who require 4 times the attention and cleanup of an adult, but eat a two dollar meal), the group usually only pays the minimal auto-deducted tip, and they often hang out all night. So instead of you getting four table’s worth of tips rotated out for several groups at each table all night, you get one big group who camps all night and needs your full attention. Your night’s tips can drop to 40% of a regular night when you get a big group. But sometimes the herd leader doesn’t notice the automatic 15% or whatever on his ticket (called the Gratuity), even when you have circled it with a pen, and tips you a second tip. This is the Double Grat.
One day a family came in and we set up their tables. I was the unfortunate soul this evening responsible for their care. They wheeled in their great-grandma and parked her at the head of the table, and this woman, bless her heart, was the oldest living person I had ever seen. She didn’t eat, didn’t say a word, and didn’t move. She just kinda clung to life at the head of the table, half hanging out of her chair with a zoned-out expression. As noisy and messy as this family was, I was even more irritated that they would drag this incredibly old, sweet lady out to dinner to watch them eat. Well the dinner came and left, then they sat and chatted forever while my peak dinner busy time expired, and it came time for the check. As the dad handed me his signed receipt, the old lady suddenly sat up, pointed a bony finger at me, and shouted “Make sure that didn’t have gratuity built in!” - I was about as shocked as if the basket of rolls had yelled it — and so was the family.