Tithe To Go Home

My first job at sixteen was in a diner. We closed at 9 PM, but on Wednesday and Sunday nights, the same church folks came in and stayed as late as 10:30 PM sometimes. My boss didn’t care (I’m sure there were some school-night/underage worker laws he broke), so I had to wait on them.

One night, it was about forty minutes after close, and I had cleaned and broken down the entire restaurant. Our dishwasher lady was getting mad at me because they still had coffee cups, but they refused to let me take them. I even had to make a new pot of coffee. 

They continued sitting there just chatting casually among themselves for another twenty minutes or so before the patriarch’s daughter realized the time.

Customer’s Daughter: “Oh my god! Dad! It’s almost ten!”

Customer: “So?”

Customer’s Daughter: “They closed ages ago! We need to go.”

Customer: “Ah, fine. I suppose we’d better go.

He leaves me a couple of coins as a tip.

Customer’s Daughter: “Really, Dad?”

Customer: “What?”

Customer’s Daughter: “The bill was over fifty, and we kept them here an hour past close, and you’re only tipping a dollar? Just throw them a ten!”

Customer: “I only tip God 10%, why should they get 20%?”

I do not miss my serving days, but ESPECIALLY for the after-church crowd!