(Don't) Keep The Tip!
I spend a large part of my time in this forum discussing two subjects near and dear to my heart – restaurants and cheap-ass Iowans. What can I tell you? They’re both perfect fodder for mocking. So bear with me as I tell you yet another tale of misadventures in dining.
Last night the Lovely Mrs. G. and I decided to get out of the house and drove down to Sloan, Iowa, home of Winn-a-Vegas. Winn-a-Vegas is a casino, owned and operated by the Winnebago tribe of Nebraska. (No, there are no motorhomes out front, and I wouldn’t dare joke with the 7-foot tall Native American security guard about them if I were you…)
Anyway, Mrs. G. and I went to throw some coins in the slot machines for a while, and while we didn’t come home millionaires, we did have a lot of fun, played for quite a while, and Mrs. G. even came home with more money than she started with, so bonus points to her! (My casino luck is usually somewhere between that of a two-leaf clover and a rabid rabbit’s foot: i.e. zilch. But I didn’t do *too* badly…for once.)
But before we went a-gaming, we stuck our head into the Winn-a-Vegas restaurant for some mediocre-but-edible eats. Their buffet was only $7.95 for dinner, and while it wasn’t exactly gourmet, it suited the needs.
It was there that we witnessed the following confrontation:
As we were being seated by a woman we assumed was the manager, a waitress came running up to her, grabbed her arm, and quickly yelled, “I need to talk to you – RIGHT NOW!” What’s up with that?
Well, we sat down at a table along a mirrored wall (lots of mirrors in this place for some reason). The same waitress came to us a minute later looking frazzled, took our drink ordered, then disappeared. Mrs. G. and I went to check out what was cooking (a salad bar that on a scale of 1 to 10 would rate about a 4, some omnipresent fried chicken and mashed potatoes, a vegetable medley that was definitely off key, and some mystery meat sausage).
We came back, and at the table next to us (which we could easily spy on in the mirrored walls) was an older woman, who was being confronted by the restaurant manager and a huge Indian security guard – the kind of guy you’d say “yes, sir” or “no, sir” to, if you knew what was good for you. We really couldn’t hear what was going on, but it wasn’t a “Hi, how’s your food?” type conversation. So naturally being the nosey people we are, we watched as we ate our salad. It was dinner and a show!
About a minute later the old lady’s husband showed back up at the table, carrying a large plate of “goolah”. (Websters Dictionary defines “goolah” as any food that’s easily plopped onto a plate in a splat-like configuration. Hey, don’t take my word for it – look it up!) The old coot was decked out in typical Iowa fashions – bib overalls, Husker cap.
The old coot put his food down as he was grilled by the security guard. Again, we couldn’t hear very well, but he’d obviously done something very, very bad, and was cornered.
Finally, I could hear the old coot say, “Look, I’ll pay back whatever it was,” and then he opened his wallet and handed the manager two dollar bills. The manager and security guard glared at him for a minute, then walked away.
It was then that it dawned on me what the old coot had done: HE’D STOLEN THE WAITRESS'S TIP MONEY!
Sure enough, on his way through the dining room on his first pass to the salad trough, he apparently walked past a recently vacated table, saw $2 sitting there for the waitress, and decided to pocket it.
Of course, being a casino loaded with silly little devices called SECURITY CAMERAS, he was busted. Either the waitress or the cameras caught him in the act, and that was that.
Anyway, he and his missus finished their food about halfway, then paid and left, hopefully in severe shame. I’m still surprised that they didn’t put him in their holding cell for a little while, just to teach the old coot a serious lesson, but I guess it wasn’t up to me. (If it was, I would’ve also peed on his Husker hat, just for fun.)
So there’s example #315 of why some Iowans are the cheapest bastards on the face of the planet. They’ll steal tip money from hard working waitresses. Disgusting, ain’t it?
In the end, Mrs. G. and I had fun at Winn-a-Vegas, and we left the waitress a nice tip for the friendly service she gave...us, at least. But I was sure to push it back a little further on the table, lest any old codgers be led into temptation.
As for the old fool with the sticky fingers, I hope to God he’s ashamed for the rest of his life. But I somehow doubt it. He’s probably at church today with Scotch tape on his fingers for the offering plate.
Ah, Iowa. The heartland of values. Just watch your wallet, if you know what’s good for you.
Last night the Lovely Mrs. G. and I decided to get out of the house and drove down to Sloan, Iowa, home of Winn-a-Vegas. Winn-a-Vegas is a casino, owned and operated by the Winnebago tribe of Nebraska. (No, there are no motorhomes out front, and I wouldn’t dare joke with the 7-foot tall Native American security guard about them if I were you…)
Anyway, Mrs. G. and I went to throw some coins in the slot machines for a while, and while we didn’t come home millionaires, we did have a lot of fun, played for quite a while, and Mrs. G. even came home with more money than she started with, so bonus points to her! (My casino luck is usually somewhere between that of a two-leaf clover and a rabid rabbit’s foot: i.e. zilch. But I didn’t do *too* badly…for once.)
But before we went a-gaming, we stuck our head into the Winn-a-Vegas restaurant for some mediocre-but-edible eats. Their buffet was only $7.95 for dinner, and while it wasn’t exactly gourmet, it suited the needs.
It was there that we witnessed the following confrontation:
As we were being seated by a woman we assumed was the manager, a waitress came running up to her, grabbed her arm, and quickly yelled, “I need to talk to you – RIGHT NOW!” What’s up with that?
Well, we sat down at a table along a mirrored wall (lots of mirrors in this place for some reason). The same waitress came to us a minute later looking frazzled, took our drink ordered, then disappeared. Mrs. G. and I went to check out what was cooking (a salad bar that on a scale of 1 to 10 would rate about a 4, some omnipresent fried chicken and mashed potatoes, a vegetable medley that was definitely off key, and some mystery meat sausage).
We came back, and at the table next to us (which we could easily spy on in the mirrored walls) was an older woman, who was being confronted by the restaurant manager and a huge Indian security guard – the kind of guy you’d say “yes, sir” or “no, sir” to, if you knew what was good for you. We really couldn’t hear what was going on, but it wasn’t a “Hi, how’s your food?” type conversation. So naturally being the nosey people we are, we watched as we ate our salad. It was dinner and a show!
About a minute later the old lady’s husband showed back up at the table, carrying a large plate of “goolah”. (Websters Dictionary defines “goolah” as any food that’s easily plopped onto a plate in a splat-like configuration. Hey, don’t take my word for it – look it up!) The old coot was decked out in typical Iowa fashions – bib overalls, Husker cap.
The old coot put his food down as he was grilled by the security guard. Again, we couldn’t hear very well, but he’d obviously done something very, very bad, and was cornered.
Finally, I could hear the old coot say, “Look, I’ll pay back whatever it was,” and then he opened his wallet and handed the manager two dollar bills. The manager and security guard glared at him for a minute, then walked away.
It was then that it dawned on me what the old coot had done: HE’D STOLEN THE WAITRESS'S TIP MONEY!
Sure enough, on his way through the dining room on his first pass to the salad trough, he apparently walked past a recently vacated table, saw $2 sitting there for the waitress, and decided to pocket it.
Of course, being a casino loaded with silly little devices called SECURITY CAMERAS, he was busted. Either the waitress or the cameras caught him in the act, and that was that.
Anyway, he and his missus finished their food about halfway, then paid and left, hopefully in severe shame. I’m still surprised that they didn’t put him in their holding cell for a little while, just to teach the old coot a serious lesson, but I guess it wasn’t up to me. (If it was, I would’ve also peed on his Husker hat, just for fun.)
So there’s example #315 of why some Iowans are the cheapest bastards on the face of the planet. They’ll steal tip money from hard working waitresses. Disgusting, ain’t it?
In the end, Mrs. G. and I had fun at Winn-a-Vegas, and we left the waitress a nice tip for the friendly service she gave...us, at least. But I was sure to push it back a little further on the table, lest any old codgers be led into temptation.
As for the old fool with the sticky fingers, I hope to God he’s ashamed for the rest of his life. But I somehow doubt it. He’s probably at church today with Scotch tape on his fingers for the offering plate.
Ah, Iowa. The heartland of values. Just watch your wallet, if you know what’s good for you.
posted by Tommy G at
6:24 PM
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