By Marie Beachdale

Sunday, July 29, 2012, Surfside Beach - Because I have been a waitress for so long it takes a lot for a customer to really surprise me, but two days ago I had a diner who did just that.

It was a quiet lunchtime at the restaurant when two young women walked in to eat. The first thing I noticed was that one of them, a blonde with a poker-straight bob, was entirely overdressed for not only my restaurant, but the 100-degree weather as well.

Her outfit was an indication that she was on her lunch break-- her long black pants and sweater with a bright pink bow were far from the normal beachgoer attire I am used to, but I was happy to see a local.

Her friend, a tan woman with dark hair that held perfect curls, was quiet and polite, smiling much more than the blonde, who looked like she should be a drill sergeant and not wearing a sweater with a pink bow.

They didn’t strike me as the type of table that would leave a memorable impression. Sure, the blonde was a little loud, but they were friendly enough. They ordered two waters and took some time to look over the menu.

When I returned to the table a couple minutes later, the blonde gave me an apologetic look and said,

“I usually never complain about anything, I’m sorry, but I really don’t like the water here. Can I get a bottle of water instead?”

After explaining to her that we don’t serve bottled water, she decided on a soda.

It was no problem at all, and, quite frankly, I understood her complaint. I’ve learned that at the beach, some days the water is fine, and others it tastes entirely too much like the sea. I dropped off the soda and returned a few minutes later to take their orders.

After the women told me what they wanted for lunch, the blonde spoke up again.

“Okay, I really don’t like this soda either, it has the same funny taste. I can’t believe you don’t sell bottled water here. Maybe I could run across the street and buy a bottle to bring back?”

“Absolutely, that would be no problem,” I told her. I was willing to bend the “no outside food or beverage” policy to make her happy. I saw her look quickly at her friend, and then back at me.

“Actually, maybe you could go get it for me?”

I thought her question was a joke, but she wasn’t smiling.

“Sure, I’ll go grab one, no problem,” I said.

I started ringing in their order and realized how ridiculous this woman’s request really was. She wanted me to leave my workplace while I had other tables, march outside in the heat and get her a bottle of water, apparently with my own money, because she didn’t offer me any for the cause.

Seriously? “Waitress” is not a synonym for personal assistant.

As I left the restaurant on my mission for a bottle of water, I focused on the tip. Surely running somewhat of an errand for a customer would yield at least 20%, right?

When I returned with the bottle of water, the woman was appreciative, but didn’t ask how much she owed me for it or anything like that. I explained to her that I would happily take the soda off of her ticket, and the women ate their lunches without further complaints.

When it was time to deliver the bill, I considered adding in the price of the bottle of water into the total, but decided against it. After removing the soda, their lunch came to $15, and the blonde was paying with her credit card.

I noticed when I dropped off the final receipt to their table, the blonde wasn’t overly friendly, but I didn’t think much of it. My hopes were still high for a good tip.

As I picked up the check folder from the table, I noticed something written on the receipt. On the line where diners usually enter a tip amount on a credit card receipt, the blonde bitch with the bow had written:

“No tip, because my bill should have been $13.99”

I fought the urge to chase the blond down and tell her how demeaning it felt when she asked me to run an errand for her, and tell her I wanted my $1.50 back. She needed to brush up on her math skills-- after removing the soda from her bill and adding tax, it came to $15 and some change. Where she pulled $13.99 from, I will never know.

My coworkers and I started at the receipt, dumbfounded, as if it would magically change if we all looked at it hard enough. It didn’t. I never thought I would be so angry about losing $1.50.

I learned two things that day. Customers will apparently never cease to amaze me, and I will never again complain when someone brings their own beverage into the restaurant. At least they are saving me the trouble of leaving work to get one for them.

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