During the summer of 1976, I had utterly failed on living on my own, and had moved back in with mom and dad. I was nineteen.

I needed a job, STAT.

The newspaper had small ad for a job at the famous Tiki Gardens, on Indian Rocks Beach, across the peninsula from where I lived. I applied for the kitchen job, improbably got it, and a few months after starting work I transferred to being a waiter at night. I then worked at Tiki Gardens for three years.

 

 

My work as a waiter began at 4:30PM, and lasted usually till 10:30PM. The first ninety minutes were often really slow. Then, at 6PM, the place flooded with customers and I would work a frantic place until the front doors closed.

The hostess was normally Angie. She greeted people, and sat them. Integral to her job was making sure that customers were seated evenly between all the waiters and waitresses. So, if I had, say, thirty people seated at my five tables during a night, all hell would break loose if the other waitpeople did not have almost the same number.

Oh, and did I mention that Angie was a horror?

She relished her power over staff and customers. If a waitperson upset her in any way she would retaliate by ruthlessly cutting down the number of customers seated in their station that night. So, an expected night of $40 in tips would become $15 in tips. If a customer upset Angie in any way she would retaliate by giving them a lousy seat. You know, like next to the bathroom.

And none of us could do a thing about Angie. We did not dare complain to management.

One night, I stood at the waiter’s station just before 5PM. The main dining room was empty. It had a vaulted ceiling, and two walls had enormous glass windows overlooking a small river. These were THE choice seats.

 

 

As I stood, Angie walked into the dining room with two customers in tow. It looked like a mother, in her thirties, with her daughter, who looked about twelve. I expected that they would be given a four-top at one of the choice window tables. Instead, I was gobsmacked when Angie gave them the worst table in the entire restaurant: A deuce as far from the windows as possible, and right up against the traffic flow of waitpeople, customers going to the bathroom, or to the bar. It was a horrible table. It was akin to sitting at a small table on a narrow highway median strip between opposing lanes of traffic.

As Angie walked away I stared at the improbable and inexplicable scene. Why had Angie given them such a bad table? It was normally the table of last resort, only used when every other table was occupied. But, the room was entirely empty.

It was also, sigh, my table.

Fuck.

I walked over to the table. I looked at the supposed mom, then at her supposed daughter. Each was clearly upset. Then I, dramatically, looked slowly around the huge empty room. I looked back at the two seated people. Then, I crouched down and leaned in.

“I can’t imagine what you did to upset the hostess, but you’re obviously paying the price, as this is the very worst table in the house.” My thought was that, by acknowledging the elephant in the room, things might get better.

The two gasped a little. Mom looked shocked. The daughter looked alarmed.

I leaned in a bit more. “And, yes, that is the bad news. The good news though? You got the best waiter in the house!”

I beamed a huge smile at the two. They each nervously smiled, sorta.

Standing, I said: “But first, I think some redecoration is in order. Would you excuse me, briefly?”

They looked wholly confused, but nodded.

I darted off. In the kitchen, I said to a busboy: “I need your help!” We then went into a closed dining room, grabbed two rattan 3-panel screens, and returned to the main dining room. Before the astonished faces on my customers we placed the two screens around 3/4 of the table, totally separating them from the traffic, and cocooning them in a cul-de-sac of privacy.

“I’ll be right back!” And off I darted with the busboy in tow.

We returned with two “Morticia” chairs. You know…

 

 

My customers gasped.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I need your chairs. Can I re-seat you in these? Would you mind terribly?”

The daughter looked rapturous, and vigorously nodded.

The two were now seated in rattan throne chairs, and surround by a rattan privacy screen. The daughter started to giggle. Relief overtook mom’s face.

Their table, in almost an instant, had been transformed.

“I’ll be right back!” And off I darted.

Returning, I removed the items on the table (salt/pepper, soy sauce, etc.), laid down a tablecloth, two cloth napkins, and replaced the table items. The table was now the only one in the room so regally outfitted.

“I’ll be right back!” And off I darted.

Returning, I placed a half-dozen votive candles on the table and, with great theatrics, lighted each one.

“I’ll be right back!” And off I darted. Except, I only walked around the table in a 360-dregree turn. The two were startled by my instant return. Acting like we had never met, I said with great formality: “Hello. My name is Ross, and I’ll be your waiter. My, what a splendid table you have! The best in the house! You both must be really special! Could I get you a drink?”

Mom burst out laughing. Daughter giggled. Her eyes were brilliant with pleasure.

In the span of less than ten minutes, their grim situation had been utterly transformed as if by the wave of a Harry Potter magic wand.

 

When they ordered, I did something I usually did.

The daughter ordered Moo Goo Gai Pan, a chicken dish. It was popular because it was familiar. I looked at her and said: “That is a wonderful dish but, if I may, I would like to suggest Fung Wong Kai,” which I went on to explain. “It’s really fabulous!”

Daughter looked nervously at mom, who shrugged. Daughter smiled a bit, and said: “OK.”

“An excellent choice, madam. I’m confident you’ll be delighted.” She giggled again, and blushed.

Turning to mom, she ordered and I again, ahh, revised her order with a recommendation. She looked at her daughter, who shrugged. Mom said: “OK!”

“An excellent choice, madam. I’m confident you’ll be delighted.”

And off I darted. In the kitchen, I explained to the chef what Angie had done, and asked if he could do an extra extra special meal for my abused customers? The grizzly chef nodded, offered a broad smile of assent, and said: “Angie’s a bitch!”

An hour later their meal was finished. The room was full. I crouched down, looked at the daughter, and said: “Have you noticed how many people are looking at you both? Your table is the envy of everybody!”

“I just said that to my mom!”

Mom beamed with joy. Her eyes glittered with pleasure.

 

I left the $19.85 bill on a tip tray, thanked the two, and wished them a wonderful evening.

A short while later the two departed, waving goodby, their faces aglow. I waited until they were out of the room, then went to the table to begin the process of returning the table to its former grimness. Looking down, I saw two $20 bills on the tip tray, and with the bill under.

I had been left a 100% tip? I had never received a 100% tip. Indeed few waitpeople ever do.

Thinking this a mistake, I ran out of the restaurant and up to the two in the parking lot. I started to hand back one $20 bill, saying: “I think you made a mistake.”

Mom looked at her daughter. “Go on to the car. I’ll be right there.”

Daughter smiled at me and departed. When she was out of earshot mom said: “I had a terrible time at work today. I got home, exhausted, only to find my daughter crying. It developed that I had forgotten her birthday! Horrified, I lied and told her that I actually had a very special surprise! That we were going to have dinner at the famous Tike Gardens! She perked right up but, when we later stepped inside, that horrible hostess looked at us like were were trash or something! She was so awful I couldn’t believe it!”

I nodded understanding.

“Then, I was in shock at the terrible table! WHY would she do that? WHY would she be so cruel?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “She’s evil.”

Mom smiled. “She sure is. Anyway, when we were seated, my heart just sank. The horrible day just kept getting worse. And the look on my daughter’s face was like a knife piercing my heart.”

She paused. Brushing away a tear, she continued: “Then, a miracle happened. A miracle! An angel, disguised as a waiter, appeared and transformed misery into joy. Ross, my daughter will remember this birthday the rest of her life!”

She pushed back my hand with the $20 bill and said: “You deserve every penny. I only wish I could have given you more.” Then she leaned over and kissed my cheek, whispering: “Thank you.”

I teared up.

She then moved to leave, stopped, turned back, and said: “Oh, and I’m a waitress.”

She knew! She knew! She knew exactly what had happened.

As they drove off, I waived goodby.

That was the best $20 I ever earned.