I wouldnít tell you this if I didnít love you: Daddy nobody, like nobody, only tips 10% now days. I know you grew up in The Great Depression. I had nothing, like nothing, to do with that, you know what I mean?
Look, I appreciate the $2.00 you left when you and Uncle Jess were here for lunch Friday. Still you should know I didnít want to be embarrassed. So I dropped another $3.00 on the table before I picked it up , just incase another waitress was watching I donít want anybody to think my Daddyís a cheapskate. I want them to think heís a good tipper. Besides, I donít have time to tell everybody how tough you had it when you were a kid.
So, please Daddy, lighten up a bit. If it hurts that much to leave a little something extra to show your appreciation for good service, go to a drive in. Yes, yes. I know you donít like to go because you canít understand the order takers. You say they mumble, garble their words, and talk too fast and thereís always a lot of static. Letís be fair, Daddy. I think itís your hearing aid. I know you donít like to replace the batteries until theyíre completely dead, but get real. You canít have it both ways. I mean, like you want to save on tips, do the drive through bit. But pick up a new set of batteries first. Itís a trade off, you know what I mean?
I love you Daddy. And I love my job here. The tips are great---usually. And I do hope youíll come back with your friends. Iíll be proud to be your server.
And, I have a great idea: Next time, please put it on your Visa and let me fill in the tip. You always taught me that what you donít see canít hurt you. Right on, Daddy. Right on.
Love and Kisses,
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