The night was simple: a beer and dinner at a restaurant my husband, Sam, enjoyed. Since he frequented this establishment with his pals, it seemed like the perfect low-effort plan since neither of us wanted to cook.
“Molly, let’s go out for dinner,” Sam remarked. “I don’t want to cook, and you’re lounging on the couch, so I know you don’t either.”
A laugh.
“I just can’t be bothered tonight,” I said. My workday was long and hectic. A restructure is looming, so everyone is apprehensive and on edge. It was hard.”
Let’s leave. Get food, beer, and maybe some dancing moves, he said.
“I’ve got cash, honey,” I said. “I’ll cover tonight, no problem.”
I felt Sam squeeze my knee while driving.
“Just that… He casually mentioned Skye, the Thursday-night bartender. “We must tip well. She’s just beginning off, and I don’t want to look cheap, especially since I’m here often.”
That made me smile. I worked in service for years. Tips matter, especially for beginners. Even as a restaurant manager, I recall struggling to obtain my evening tips to make ends meet.
No problem, I thought. I would protect her.
At least that was the plan.
After arriving, we sat at two barstools. The night was lively but not overwhelming—just a friendly night out. Upon meeting the bartender, we felt uneasy.
She was very courteous to Sam but ignored me.
“What can I get you, hon?” She asked him with a flirtatious smile.
As Sam ordered two drinks, I observed her closely. She was lovely. She had a nice nose and excellent winged eyeliner.
My guard went up immediately.
I requested a burger, fries, and additional onion rings. But guess what? She wrote it without looking at me, like if I were invisible.
Any more for you? She sweetly asked my spouse.
I attempted to dismiss it. Maybe she was nervous or having a bad night. Maybe she gravitated toward him since Sam frequented the establishment and was a known face.
The pattern persisted throughout the meal. She just asked about his meals and drink. She returned again when our plates were nearly empty.
“Need a box for that?” she inquired, pointing at my plate but addressing my husband.
My plate was half-full. What the hell?
I answered each time, but she never glanced at me. I got monotone reactions and fleeting glances, whereas my spouse got grins, jokes, and playful laughter.
“Wow, okay,” I mumbled. “Date night, Sam.”
My hubby watched me drink beer. He had no idea. He was having fun.
“She’s just trying to be nice, Molly,” he added.
I rolled my eyes but moved on.
For now.
We had wonderful food and full glasses. I knew Skye was interested in my husband, but I tried to focus on the fact that I didn’t have to wait for my food or refills. She monitored us. On Sam, not me.
“Don’t you love this place, babe?” Sam requested with arms extended. “I always feel at home here. The whole facility feels welcoming.”
I wonder why… Was snarky.
“It’s the people,” he added, ignoring my sarcasm. “They’re always good, and nobody gets drunk and acts out. Good service is always provided.
“I’m sure they are,” I answered. “You’re a regular here, so they pay extra attention.”
He smiled at me like that was the greatest praise.
The bill arrived about $60. I took out $30 for the tip—50%, generous. I discreetly folded the cash under the check.
My husband looked at me curiously.
“Are you sure, Molly?”
“Yeah,” I responded, securing the money. “You want to tip her well, right?”
Smiled and shrugged.
“That’s my girl,” he said.
Our bartender reappeared, took the bill, and paid us out quickly.
I imagined this girl might play well in a casino as I saw her long fingers dance between notes. She moved chips smoothly.
Sam was leaning closer to Skye when I said, “Time to go, honey.”
He nodded and drank his last beer.
Skye irritated me again.
She took the money and check and looked at my husband with her back almost to me, speaking in the loveliest voice.
Many thanks for that! Sam, you did great. Thanks very much.”
I froze.
I stiffened my teeth and felt my chest heat up.
My spouse nodded politely while putting on his jacket. I sat staring at her back of the head. I could touch her shoulder from less than 10 inches away.
I didn’t.
Instead, I leaned forward so she could smell my beer breath.
“Skye, I paid. Tipped you. Not my spouse. Thank you.”
Sarcasm oozed from every sentence, making the words harsher than I intended.
She paused without turning around. Instead, she took Sam’s empty beer bottle and left. There was no apology or acknowledgement.
She left with her hair swinging like she hadn’t heard me.
I know she did.
My hubby was quiet leaving. But I could sense his displeasure in the background. He was mad.
We didn’t talk until we got in the car.
Angered, he questioned, “Did you really have to say that?”
I looked at him, shocked.
Are you serious, Sam? I requested. “She didn’t even acknowledge that I was there entire time.”
He moaned and rubbed his temple like I caused all his problems.
“I understand. But she probably assumed I paid. Not personal.”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “Even if that woman thought you paid, treat both people equally. Sam, she didn’t have to flirt with you and ignore me all the time.
“Flirt?” he laughed, like it was stupid. “She was kind.”
“Nice?” Fired back. Maybe to you. Sitting there paying the bill, she won’t look at me. How nice? Who acts like that? Unless seeking attention…”
He shook his head and started the car, ending the conversation.
He asked, “You embarrassed me, okay?” “I frequent this place with the guys, and she may think we’re them.”
Which people? The woman angry at a bartender and the man who allowed it happen?
An angry car passenger | Midjourney
Sam remained mute.
“Well, maybe she should have done her job and thanked the person who paid,” I grumbled, crossing my arms.
The drive continued silently.
After we arrived home, I kept repeating the moment.
Maybe I overreacted. I felt familiar with her treatment of me.
Like every time someone thought I wasn’t in command or had money.
It went beyond the tip. The feeling of being invisible returned. Like my workplace treatment. Because of his demeanor, everyone thought my head waiter was the manager.
My job was manager. Like I paid tonight.
Was I too harsh? Maybe. I wasn’t sorry. Honestly, I’d do it again.
Inspired by true events and people, this work is fictionalized for creativity. To preserve privacy and enrich the story, names, characters, and facts were changed. The author does not imply any resemblance to real people, events, or places.
From Amomama
