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Funny Revenges!
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0.00
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n/a
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Lone Star New Year
Where was I near the stroke of midnight, New year's Eve, 1997?
Same as last year; lugging bottles of cheap champagne to tables full of drunk cowboy lawyers and their cackling wives. It was a prix fixe dinner complete with streamers, hats and balloons strewn all over the floor. Ours was supposed to be a swanky restaurant, but decorum is not something highly valued among this crowd of Texan ranch owners. Those stout bellied blowhards loved to tie one on and take out their contempt for the less fortunate on us. The more we rushed and smiled, the more brutal they were. "Where the hell is that goddamn Champagne!!" bellowed a graying tycoon, sweating from the alcohol of many glasses of bad chardonnay. He had taken off his Stetson hat and seemed not to care about the pressed in ring it had left in his hair. He charged up to me as though he planned to rip my head from my body.
"Young Lady, do you realize it is five minutes to midnight? You gonna get all of us poured some bubbly by then, or do I need to get yer goddamn manager in here to help you?"
"No sir, I've got it covered,"
I growled between gritted teeth. Everyone in the small private room was either standing in clumps or perched, as with most of the wives, with their Channel clad asses right on the table, laughing, sloshing, spilling ashes, piling plates on the windowsills. My busboy and I began frantically to serve the Veuve Cliquot, dodging stumblers and other busboys and servers assisting in clearing the table. It seemed hopeless; once I thought everyone had a glassful, a shout would come from here or there: "Hey honey, I'm out over here!" and I would have to scramble to refill. The time was closing in. There was no way to keep up with them so Carlos and I, exhausted, just hung back for the moment. Miraculously, one of them noticed the time and shouted to the group, "Hey, hey y'all, it's time! It's time!!" They scrambled for their streamers. "Five...Four...Three...Two...One..."
And in this millisecond, as the partiers reared back to toss out their paper streamers, my eyes hit the huge candles placed along the middle of the table. I started up to intervene but it was too late. "...HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!" The streamers were released into air, floating gracefully, crisscrossing, right into the flames. In no time the entire table was ablaze with bright streams of fire. Finding this hysterical, the crowd of wealthy ranchers began to extinguish the fire with spews of shaken beer and champagne. The table was soon covered with ashy, smoking pools of Coors Light. I gave up. This was total chaos. I left the room completely exhausted and disgusted.
When I returned, my friend the Drunk Hathead was spitting at our manager. Something about "lousiest service he'd ever had" and "I thought this establishment had a good reputation". As it turns out, the man was trying to get out of the $270.00 gratuity. The manager was losing the battle, from what I could see, and as I could take no more of it, I stomped back to the table to begin cleaning up. As I began wiping off the stinking remnants of the fire drill, I noticed the man's Stetson sitting on a chair upside down, looking very much to me like a perfect receptacle for my wrath. I discreetly made an inspired concoction of beer, white zinfandel, cig butts and leftover rib eye fat in a wine glass, and deposited all into the hat. I hardly keep Carlos from busting a gut, but assured him we must be very cool.
The man barked at the manager for half an hour at least, and all but the man and his wife had retired to the cigar room. Hanging out seemed too suspicious, so I finally had to leave the scene. It was only with the later report from Carlos, who kept an eye on the scene, that I learned what happened. When the man tried to put on the hat, my cocktail splattered all down his suit, sending his wife into riotous laughter. Apparently he was so pissed at her for laughing he never thought to put two and two together. And as if the gods had seen fit, the man had not only agreed to pay half the gratuity, but was so shitfaced that he added another tip on the tip line in addition, totaling the $270 we were supposed to get in the first place.
—Taj J., Austin, TX
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