As the waitress reached for the check, she paused, frowned, and said, “Ten bucks? This isn’t the 1950s anymore, you know.”
Amelia froze, fork midair. Ryan looked up, startled.
The waitress crossed her arms. “It’s standard to tip twenty percent these days, cheapskate. Don’t you know how to do math?”
The words hit like a slap. Amelia felt her face flush — a mix of disbelief and rising heat. “I think ten dollars on an eighty-five-dollar meal is perfectly reasonable,” she replied, her tone clipped.
The waitress rolled her eyes with theatrical flair, snatched the check, and walked away without another word. The silence left behind was heavier than the sauce cooling on their plates.
The Boil Beneath the Calm
Amelia sat stunned. She’d worked in customer service before — long hours, aching feet, difficult customers. But this? This wasn’t just unprofessional. It was personal.
“That was out of line,” Ryan muttered, trying to ease the tension.
Amelia nodded, but her mind was already racing. Ten dollars wasn’t nothing. Sure, it wasn’t twenty percent, but tipping had become a murky space — a tug-of-war between social pressure and personal discretion. She had tipped for decent service. And now she was being publicly shamed, painted as stingy in front of a room full of strangers.
“I can’t believe she said that,” Amelia whispered.
Ryan sighed. “Let’s just go.”
The Retaliation
She reached into her purse, retrieved the ten-dollar bill, and with a calm, deliberate motion, tucked it back inside.Continue reading…
