I’m in the kitchen munching on some fried polenta chips when the hostess interrupts me.

“You’ve got a new table on ten.”

I look at the clock. It’s almost closing.

“Does anyone else want this table?” I ask. It’s a stupid question. The other waiters mentally vacated the place hours ago.

“Hell no,” Louis says eating his dinner.

“Come on Arlene. Remember when I let you leave early last week?” I plead.

“So sorry,” Arlene laughs.

“Shit.”

I walk out to the table. It’s a family of four.

The father’s a no nonsense military looking kind of guy. Seated across from him in the usual soccer mom getup is his wife. Next to her, facing me, a mass of black curls and inexpertly applied makeup, is her teenage daughter. She smiles at me toothily.

The other daughter sits facing away from me – face obscured by a hanging mane of heavy black hair. Her bejeweled fingers tap impatiently on the table top. Probably embarrassed to be seen eating out with her parents.

“Can I get anyone something to drink?” I ask cheerfully.

The man and his wife order some red wine.

“I’ll have a coke,” the first daughter says looking up and down. Yeah, she digs me.

“And what will you have miss?” I ask the other daughter.

The daughter looks up at me from under her hair. Suddenly and I notice “she” has a beard.

“I’m not a girl,” the newly revealed young man sniffs defensively.

Thank God, I think to myself, you’d be one UGLY girl.

“I’m very sorry sir. I need to get a new pair of glasses,” I say trying to cover my surprise.

“He said you were a girllll!” the sister taunts.

“Shut up idiot,” the brother shoots back.

“Enough” the father cuts in, “Tell the man what you want to drink.”

“I’ll have a Coke,” the young man mutters sullenly.

Tip in the toilet I go and fetch their drinks.

They order quickly and are soon tucking into their entrées. While they’re eating the son gets up to go to the bathroom. As he approaches me I can feel the hatred coming off of him like heat off a radiator.

“I’m not a girl,” he hisses looking me in the eye.

“No kidding,” I deadpan.

He’s stops in his tracks and starts to say something.

“Can I help you sir?” I say skewering him with my thousand yard waiter stare. I’m twice his age and outweigh him by fifty pounds.

Saying nothing he shuffles past me. I can’t help but notice he’s headed for the wrong bathroom.

“Sir, that’s the ladies room.”

“I knew that,” he says rapidly changing course.

“Just checking,” I chuckle.

The family finishes their meal. They take a pass on dessert. Dad asks for the check.

“Sorry for the mix up,” I say handing him the bill.

Saying nothing he hands me a credit card. Oh boy.

Check paid the family gets up and heads for the door. I warily look inside the checkbook.

Dad left me a $100 tip.

I run up to the front to thank the man for his generosity.

“That waiter’s a jerk,” I overhear the son saying as he heads out the door.

“It was an honest mistake. Get a haircut!” the father calls out after him.

Catching up to the father I extend my hand.

“Thank you sir!” I say.

With a firm grip he replies,

“No. Thank YOU.”

“Not a problem,” I grin.

“Goddamn hippie,” the father mutters walking out onto the street.

I stand in the doorway a hundred dollars richer.

That was the most profitable faux pas I ever committed.

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