Pardon me for appearing terribly intolerant, but I can't stand serving people who don't speak a lick of English. Last night, for instance, two non-English speaking teenagers sat in my section for one hour without ordering anything except for a Sprite. A Sprite. Now, because most of you are unfamiliar with the restaurant in which I work, I'll give the scoop on why people don't just order a Sprite at my restaurant. Our entrees average $32.95 and go up to $49.95. We sell bottles of wine in the $280 range. We have no chips and salsa, no complimentary anything, and no french fries or kid's meals. It's not as upscale as, say, a Manhattan restaurant, but we don't cater to white trash or, worse yet, cheap people.

So, to sit in my section and drink a Sprite when my other two tables have tabs in excess of $200? Imagine my elation. After an hour of dumb and dumber lounging at my table, I asked them if they wanted to order dinner yet. The male smiled and nodded. The only thing he did was smile and nod. Feeling slightly annoyed, I decided to let my inner bastard out for a walk. In my most condescending voice, I said "FOOD. EAT," while rubbing my stomach in a circular motion. The male smiled and nodded, then said, "Oh, no." So I gave him his tab, pointed to my watch, and said, "WE'RE CLOSING." This was at 5:30 p.m. Our kitchen, of course, closes at 10.

The couple tabbed out, leaving me a -.50 cent tip. In essence, I paid 50 cents to wait on them. However, God works in mysterious way, and our happy couple returned to the restaurant one hour later. This time, they sat in the smoking section. As I was walking in the general vicinity of their table, the male raised his hand and waived it about like a first grader during story time. I walked by their table, eyebrow raised, wondering what he could possibly communicate to me. Quite angrily, he said, "You not closed!" You not closed!" And, quite calmly, I replied, "You still owe 50 cents plus tip." He smiled and nodded.