Tip or Treat

First off, my dieting update:

DIETING: WEEK FIVE

STARTING WEIGHT: 281.6 pounds
THIS WEEK’S CHANGE: - 5.0 pounds
TOTAL WEIGHT LOST: 20.6 pounds
CURRENT WEIGHT: 261.0 pounds

I was quite pleased to see a weight loss of 5 pounds for last week; this in spite of my decision to have a nice big naughty plate of nachos on Friday night. I took some advice I was given, and that advice worked. If there is one thing I can recommend to someone who wants to lose weight, one piece of advice, it is this:

DRINK AT LEAST 6 GLASSES OF WATER A DAY.

This is not bullshit. Drinking the water made a huge difference in my weight loss. In week 1, I drank 6 glasses a day, and lost 10 pounds. In weeks 2-4, I drank 1-3 glasses per day and averaged like 2 pounds a week. In week 5, I went to 3-4 glasses of water a day, and lost 5 pounds. Drinking water works, plain and simple.

The Weight Watcher's meeting itself was rather dull and unispiring. Because of my shift change at work, I had to come at a different time. The lady who ran this class was nice, but kinda had the stage presence of a slightly moistened carboard box, which was once used to store beige yarn.

After the meeting, I decided I needed a treat (treating myself is high on my list of favourite things to do, appearing right after sex). I've had a hankering (I use this word merely because you hardly ever get a chance to use the word "hankering") for bacon and eggs for several days. My friend Gary can attest to this, as I've been pestering him to come with me for several days.

I used to have a friend (my best friend since the age of nine) with whom I would head out late at night, and we'd go to the Fifth Wheel (a truck stop about 15 minutes away from my home) for a big breakfast. We didn't do this all the time, but at least once or twice a month. My friend has moved away to Kurzistan (or some such) and married a Russian woman, and now spends his time building orphanages. No shit. Who the fuck saw that coming.

So now, I have no late-night breakfast buddies. I decided to go by myself, and made the drive out to the restaurant. I grew up in these kinds of places, as my parents and grandparents have owned restaurants for decades. My first home was literally in a restaurant. I'm not sure exactly what age I started drinking coffee at: all I know is, as a kid, it was the only thing we served that I wasn't allowed to have, so of course its the thing I wanted most. I have been sneaking coffee ever since I was about four, when I used to take about 96 sugars.

Obviously, I have a great deal of nostalgia when it comes to these places. I brought a copy of Backsliding with me (a movie script I am working on with my amazing writing partner, Craig) so I would have something to do. Besides, to be honest, it felt kinda cool to be sitting in a truck stop at 9:00 pm and working on writing a movie.

My waitress came to my table (let's call her Flo, because according to the plastic brand over her left boob, that was her name) after about five minutes. Basically, the wait was almost, but not quite, long enough to piss me off. She offered me a coffee, which I gratefully accepted (it was delicious), and left me a menu.

When she returned, I told her I would like the Big Breakfast (hey, if you're gonna treat yourself, treat big), which consisted of 2 eggs (any style), 2 strips of bacon, 2 sausages, and 2 pancakes, as well as homefries. I asked Flo if I could substitute bacon for the sausage, because I despise breakfast sausage with an intensity normally reserved for telemarketers. She said it wouldn't be a problem.

When she read my order back to me, she said "4 pieces of sausage, no bacon". I corrected her, and she laughed and said "That's not what you said the first time". Now right away, I find this a little annoying. Even if I am wrong, just accept it and move on. But I wasn't wrong, because I HATE sausage; I wouldn't make the kind of mistake that would get me four sausages. After I corrected her, she scribbled out the order, and walked away muttering to herself, something I couldn't hear. It didn't sound complimentary.

I sat and worked on my script for awhile, and finished my coffee after a few minutes. I waited 3-4 minutes for her to come by so I could ask for a refill. Finally, she came to the table next to mine, refilled his coffee, then turned and walked away. All the time studiously avoiding making eye contact with me. It took about 10 minutes for my breakfast to be cooked, which was fine, during which time she refused to look towards me to see if I needed anything.

When she brought my meal, I asked her for another cup of coffee, which elicited a weary sigh as she walked away. She did bring me another cup of coffee. The last one of the night, as it turns out, because she disappeared for the remainder of my meal.

When she brought my bill, she dropped it on the table, and walked past quickly, without stopping to see if I wanted anything else. I sat for awhile, and worked on the script, and pondered whether or not to tip her. You see, the thing is, I like to tip. I've worked in restaurants for the first 20 years of my life, and I know what its like. Tips make a big difference, trust me on this. If you're one of those people who don't tip, I seriously urge you to change your ways, you skinflint.

So, I desperately wanted to tip. But this desire was at war with my general annoyance at the shitty service I had received. In the end, I decided that she would get nothing. I wasn't quite angry enough to leave the ultimate insult tip ... 1 penny. This is something you do to communicate to your server that, while you would normally tip, his/her abysmal service has resulted in this direct insult.

So, to Flo, a big fuck you. Fuck you for your crap service. Fuck you for making mistakes and blaming me. And Fuck you for making me feel bad about not tipping your rude ass.