This takes place a couple of years ago in the heat of the global health crisis. I work at a popular pub in a big town. During the crisis, we are careful to space out everything, sanitize heavily, and wear masks.
Now, enter the guests: a man, his wife, and his daughter. To give a brief description of the main perp, the man is obviously a cop, complete with a crew cut, stiff posture, and an outfit that says, “I’m off the clock but still a cop.”
They take their seats, and I approach with my typical greetings. They order some drinks, and I ask the daughter for her ID. She sinks a little.
Daughter: “I forgot it at home.”
It’s clearly code for “I’m a minor.”
Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t serve you, then.”
The parents are aghast.
Parents: “Really?! She’s with her parents! She can’t have a drink? I can vouch that she’s of age!”
Me: “I’m sorry, folks, but I legally can’t serve her without proof.”
At this point, the man loudly scoffs and smirks at me while reaching for his wallet. He flashes his badge.
Man: “This mean anything to you?”
Did this guy really just try to extort me for a beer for his underage daughter?
Me: “No, that doesn’t mean anything to me.”
Man: “Really? Nothing? Pull down that mask and let me see your face.”
At this point, I already know my tip is gone.
Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re in a [health crisis] with a mask mandate, and we take that pretty seriously here.”
Man: “Jesus, you got a manager I can talk to?”
I walk off to find my boss and let her know what’s going on. She listens to my story.
Boss: “This guy sounds like a f****** a**hole.”
I watch from afar as the man waves his hands around, the woman sits in disbelief that we won’t serve her daughter, and the daughter flushes a dark shade of red with embarrassment. They hash it out for about five minutes while my coworkers and I try our hardest not to stare at the meltdown this middle-aged police officer is having over his server NOT illegally serving his daughter a drink.
My manager returns and talks to us.
Boss: “F*** those people. We’ll give them dinner, but that girl isn’t drinking. If they say anything else to you, tell me, and they’re out. I can’t believe that guy is a cop.”
While we’re laughing at how ridiculous the situation is, a man from another one of my tables walks up behind us and interrupts.
Other Customer: “Hi, I have [My Name] as my server, too, and he’s great. That dude is an a**hole.”
The rest of the meal was tense and awkward. The parents were fuming, and the daughter seemed like she wanted nothing more than to leave. Nobody would look at me any time I approached, and I kept my service pretty stiff and formal. The cop asked a few more questions about my name, who my parents were, and what part of town I lived in, but I danced around them and avoided answering anything personal.
As expected, no tip. It feels a little ironic that I did the protecting and serving there that evening.
