Before I begin, did I just put “black people” and “whipping boy” in the same sentence?

Anyway, I’m just wondering why when someone says “bad tippers” their thoughts immediately turn to “black person”? Is it because there’s simply more blacks than in any other restaurant-going minority, thereby more examples to reinforce this stereotype? Is it because whites make up the largest ethnic group in America that it’s easier to compare blacks and whites? Is it something deeper? I really don’t know.

I know that in most of my articles (especially the one where I called out every demographic’s frickin’ downfall) I’ve tried to paint a fair picture. I call out old people who can’t tip. I call out rednecks who can’t tip. I call out finicky asians who can’t tip. I call out teenagers who can’t tip.

But I say the same thing about blacks and the debate gets heated.

I’ve read around and whenever I post an article that involves a black family not tipping well, it’s lauded and supported with emails and comments as “truth”. But when I rail a family of rednecks, bros who listen to way too much Dave Matthews, or teenagers who wouldn’t know good music if it came up and sang “Golden Slumbers” right in front of their face, it gets quiet. No comments. No discussions. No debate. No nothing.

What is it with us? Do we so crave the black vs. white thing so much that we will ignore idiot-bashing until it’s about black people?

I’ve written almost five times as many articles poking fun at white yuppie soccer moms who wouldn’t know how to fill their Hummer with gas if their life depended on it and yet I have TEN TIMES as many comments on the articles bashing idiots who are black.

I even called a 14-year-old girl hot. Two comments. Accidental pedophilia, people!

The title of the website is I Serve Idiots. Not “I Serve Black Idiots”. Not “Black People Tip Terribly”. This is a place where we can come together as a community of people who hate idiots and…well…hate idiots. Regardless of class, gender, race, economic level, etc…

Please, guys. Tell me what’s up. Help me gain some perspective. I’m begging y’all.

It’s always on Sundays, isn’t it? Like clockwork with you Southern Baptists.

Old Man: “You did such a nice job. This is for you.” (Hands me the Tip Booklet)
Me: “Thank you, sir.” (Not opening said Tip Booklet)
Old Man: “No. Open it. It’s for you. Thanks again.”
Me: “Umm…sure…” (I open the Tip Booklet. My face turns red)
Old Man: “…”
Me: “Umm…sir…can I ask if something was wrong? If so, I’ll gladly try and compensa…”
Old Man: “No, no, no…you don’t understand. You did a great job.”

I truly cannot go on with this story. Everyone knows where it’s going.

And that’s damn near sad that everyone knows where it’s going (everyone that’s been a server, that is).

Everyone knows that the old man doesn’t get it.

Every server reading this is probably feeling a twinge of what I felt last Sunday afternoon.

And everyone would have thrown away that Christian tract, that sorry excuse for a tip, just as fast as I did.

Old Man: “You don’t look Japanese. Can we get a different server?”
Me: “You don’t look Japanese. Can I get a different customer?”

For the year or so I’ve been at my current restaurant, I have been many things:

Serving a family of four from Boston? Oh yea, I have family in Boston. Near…uh…Quincy Market, I believe.

Party of five from Oregon? Yea…my grandparents are living in Portland. Love it there, when I have time to visit of course. Clean city.

Getting a high school football coach some sushi? I played two years of varsity football. Played center. Broke my foot in the next to last game my sophomore year.

Getting a high school baseball coach some sushi? I played on my college’s baseball team my freshman year. Fractured my foot on a stray fastball though.

Three guys getting drinks at the sushi bar? I hate it when my girlfriend makes me watch Sex and the City too.

Four girls at a dining table? Charlotte is definitely the cutest. Miranda’s my girlfriend’s favorite.

Older couple? I was a Methodist youth pastor in Western Florida for five months. Loved it there. Could really see God working through me in this tiny little town.

Younger couple? I got supremely drunk last night and showed up to class hungover. Aced my test though. Smart girl in front of me thankfully.

Every night, I go through a wardrobe of characters. Sadly, most are false. Even more sad than that, I can’t remember the last time I was completely myself with a table. I’m constantly changing to fit the customer(s) I’m serving.

And do you want to know why? Because people (including myself) are so fickle, so shallow, that if they sense you are in the slightest opposition to who you are or what you believe, they won’t tip you anything.

You don’t even have to say anything. I could wear a ring with a cross on it and some feminist women could get the idea that in my spare time I like blowing up abortion clinics. Don’t believe me? Then you’ve never been a waiter.

Or I could accidentally spill hot soup on myself, say the “f…” in “fuck”, catch myself, and be stiffed by an older, more conservative couple that would have tipped me hand over fist if I had worn my ring with a cross on it. Still don’t believe me? Refer to the waiter-run websites on the side of my site.

Customers like it when they’re around people similar to them. And if my grandparents need to live in Quincy Market for the hour or so I’m serving you, then so be it. It enhances your experience and gets me and the chef a better tip.

I’m sure my Nana won’t mind.