Keep That Kind Of Tip To Yourself

(I go into the restaurant where I work to collect my paycheck. I have my three-year-old brother with me, and I see a regular paying for her order, who is usually very nice and a great tipper.)

Me: “Hi, [Regular]! How are you today?”

Regular: “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it!”

Me: “What’s wrong?”

Regular: “Aren’t you only eighteen?”

Me: “Yes, I–“

Regular: “That’s what’s wrong with the world these days. Stupid teenagers getting pregnant, having children, and dropping out of school to be deadbeat waitresses and live off welfare. Taking all my hard-earned money to support their drug habits while their kids are starving! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

Brother: “[My Name], I hungry.”

Regular: “I bet you didn’t even tell him you’re his mother. I bet that’s why he doesn’t call you ‘Mommy’!”

Me: “He doesn’t call me ‘Mommy’ because I’m his sister. And even if I was his mother, you know for a fact that I’m in school, and it wouldn’t really be any of your business if I wasn’t. Besides, if it wasn’t for us ‘deadbeat waitresses,’ you wouldn’t have anyone to serve you your meal when you come here.”

Regular: “Well, it’s still not right!” *stomps off*

Brother: “MEAN LADY!” *pause* “Can I have chocolate?”

(My boss overheard the whole thing and insisted on giving us some free desserts, and we never saw that customer again!)