I worked at a semi-swanky hotel/restaurant in the 90's...

And one night we were informed that the Jaguar Club of California was coming up to Occupy our establishment this one particular weekend.

Our response was...Cool, will make some serious cash (tips).

So... on the day before the entire group was to show up, the President of the club, and his wife, showed up to get settled in and check the place out.

Now you have to understand that the REAL restaurant is upstairs in this building, but we do/did have a "Bar Menu" in the downstairs bar... which is the size of an aircraft carrier, complete with a mezzanine level for which the bartender (me) was responsible.

Anywho... it's not a particular busy night, and the President of the JC and squeeze are eating and drinking at the bar. When they finish... he leaves a $3.00 tip on a $57.00 tab.

Now I'm fairly new at this place, and I'm not really comfortable chasing these guys down and bitching about the tip. So I did not. But...

When THE JCP went to use the men's room, the squeeze looked over her shoulder, saw him as gone, and promptly reached into the "no man's zone" (that little dipped down part where the tip was, where the bartender makes the drinks, and where in some certain bars you might end up with a broken hand if you were to be so bold as to rescind a tip...)

And... took two of the three dollars back, and stuffed them into her purse!

But trying to be mellow and understanding... I just file it, and do not react... at all. I just figure that's the way these guys end up with Jaguars.



Now... the NEXT NIGHT... the rest of the Jaguar Club shows up...

And now I'm the best buddy/friend of the PJC & Squeeze...

And I'm being funny, and I'm working my ass off, and they are throwing $5's, $10's, & $20's at me. And I'm keeping an eye on the President's wife.



But at one point... in the middle of my little tourism/must see/hilarious History of the area performance... the president's wife... in the middle of a dead space... points at me and says... "So, where do YOU people live?"

Now my momma told me exactly what that question meant...

And as I Rolodexed through the various "FUCK YOU" responses in my mind that rose to the occasion... I took another path.

As the room was now COMPLETELY SILENT... I said, with a smile...

"Oh... they have a migrant waitressing, bar tending, cheffing encampment right up the road. They bus us in in the morning so as to serve you, and then bus us out at night so as to not offend you."

Now I was actually risking my job here... And I even went through the swinging door into the wine/food storage hallway, only to find my boss, my manager, doubled over in laughter...

I asked him if I was fired, and he said, "I have no idea." And continued enjoying the moment.

When I re-emerged into the bar there was a couple of hundred dollars of tip in "the rail", and all I could fathom, was that the rest of the California Jaguar Club had had enough of these two too.

And... I was not fired after all.