It’s 3:50 a.m. I just got home. I should have been home 45 minutes ago, but it seems subway service isn’t as normal as it’s supposed to be tonight. Trust me when I say there is nothing like waiting 20 minutes for your train, having it finally arrive, then taking you half-way home, where you are told that you have to get off the train and wait for a shuttle train to take you the rest of the way. Of course what they don’t tell you is that the shuttle train will take an additional 20 minutes to arrive. So what should have been a 45 minute trip takes 90 minutes. Like I said, nothing beats it.
Of course there’s no real reason to get angry, because it really doesn’t do any good. It would just ruin my night. I don’t mind so much that it happened, I just wish I’d known about it in advance. On Friday afternoons I get an email from the MTA letting me know about changes in service on the two subways that serve my neighborhood. According to this weekend’s email, there were no changes in service on either line, which meant that I could guesstimate how long it would take to get home. But that was not the case. Had I known it was going to take 90 minutes, I could have taken the other train, or ever better a 25 dollar cab ride that would get me home in 20 minutes. Of course it doesn’t matter now, I’m home and that’s all that matters. I just hope this isn’t happening tomorrow night because I close the restaurant on Sunday night and I open it at 9:00 on Monday morning. I’ll need to get home fast to get as much sleep as I can.
That being said, I had a great night at work tonight. I had been dreading being there because I hadn’t worked in a week. It’s always hard to come back after a vacation and my last shift sucked ass and I was afraid tonight would too. But for the most part it was fine. I did get stiffed on three checks. And I don’t mean stiffed in a good way. To be stiffed means that you don’t get any tip at all. The first two tables that stiffed me annoyed me, but I had kind of expected it so I said what the fuck and went on. The last table though, really surprised me. The check was 69.90 and they gave me 70.00 and told me to keep the change. It’s the first time since I’ve worked there that I wanted to say something. The service was great, they were taken care of, and seemed quite happy. I would just like to know why they didn’t tip. Was it something I said? Was it something I did? Were they just ignorant tourists who didn’t know any better? What was the reason. Unfortunately, in the restaurant business, one of the fastest ways to get fired is to ever mention the amount of the tip to a customer. It’s never to be brought up at all. As a rule I stay as far away from the subject as possible, even with the tables that I’m having fun with and who really like me. Leave what you want, when you leave. But that last table I just wanted to know. But alas, it’s not to be. I just know that if the three tables that stiffed me had left 20 percent tips I would have made an extra 60 bucks tonight. If I had made that I probably would have taken a cab home anyway and I would have never known the subways were fucked.