Tipping Point

Cheryl looked down at the screen. It had been swivelled around so she could read it. Confusion set in as she gripped the cold soda bottle.

After paying with a card, the cashier was asking her to confirm her payment with a signature, but there were also options to include a tip. Was she expecting a tip? Should Cheryl give one?

”Just go ahead and press that button.” Cheryl looked up at the cashier’s shiny face.

Her gaze went back to the screen. The only buttons were the tip options, but she was just buying a soda. A bottled soda. It was already kind of expensive, but Cheryl still wanted to pay for it. Dana was going to be here soon.

Briefly, Cheryl imagined herself standing in front of that register for the next hundred hours, frozen, staring at the signature screen and wondering if she should really be adding a tip to this purchase. In this imagined universe, her feet were sore from standing and she wished she had worn tennis shoes.

“Ma’am, did you want to order something else?”

Order… something else? She looked at the bottle in her hand. She hadn’t exactly ordered this in the first place. She had walked in, grabbed this bottle from the refrigerated case, and indicated she wanted to buy it. There was no ordering involved, even though they made a delicious tomato and mozzarella panini.

Making a decision, Cheryl scrawled her signature on the screen, the action revealing a Confirm button. She pressed it and quickly moved to sit at an empty table, ignoring her receipt.

As she waited for Dana, Cheryl sipped from her bottle once, avoiding eye contact with the cashier. She felt uncomfortable, like she was being judged for not tipping. A tall brunette walked in and tossed Cheryl a wave.

She watched Dana head to the counter but then looked elsewhere. After a few moments, Dana sat down with a bottled water. While unscrewing the cap, she gave a side eye toward Cheryl’s soda. “We talked about aspartame, Cher.”

Her own eyes rolled immediately. “And we talked about sleeping with your neighbor, Dane.” With a start, Cheryl thought to ask, “Hey, did you tip that girl?”

Her eyes squinting, Dana said, “Huh?”

“For the water. You tip her?”

Shrugging, Dana said, “Yeah. Fifteen percent. Lowest on the screen. It’s not like she did much.” Her eyes brightened. “Why? What did you tip?”

Cheryl chewed her lip, hesitating to answer.

“Are you serious? Did you not tip her?”

Cheryl shook her head and Dana silently gasped.

“Weren’t you a server before? Like, a long time ago? You know what they make.”

Cheryl leaned forward to speak softer. Her neck and ears felt hot thinking about this. “Yeah, but I was a real server. I had to bring food to tables and shit. These bottles were just sitting out in the open. What did she do?”

“Cher, who do you think put the bottles there?” Dana quieted down and Cheryl knew the cashier was nearby in the dining area. As she passed, Cheryl noticed the younger girl carrying two plates of food.

“Goddammnit,” she muttered. So she served food, too. Was probably asked to bring stuff back to the table, like packets of salt, or ketchup, or a new order of fries because the customer says they’re not the right color and has no problem writing a bad review online. Cheryl met Dana’s gaze when the cashier finally returned to her register to take someone’s order. “What do I do?”

Dana chuckled. “What do you mean? You already paid for that, right?” She looked toward the register. “I see a cup for tips. Got any cash?”

“Who carries cash?”

Shrugging, Dana said, “Well, you can always go back up there for something else and give her a better tip, although I’m sure it’s not just for her.”

“What do you mean? When I waited on people, all the tips I got were mine.”

“Yeah, but I think a lot of places now pool their tips. Like, she’ll get some of it, but so will the guys in the kitchen. And the bus boys, maybe.”

Cheryl grumbled. “But they didn’t do anything for me. I’m pretty sure only she did.”

Dana shrugged her shoulders again. “Then you’re screwed. But I wouldn’t worry about it. She’s probably not paid those server’s wages anyway.”

“Ya think?” she asked hopefully.

“Probably. With what she does, I bet she at least makes minimum wage, plus whatever tips. I’m sure she’s good.”

Cheryl looked down at her bottle. She’d hardly touched it, and it was sweating.

All of a sudden, a small hand appeared from her right, startling Cheryl. She let out a soft cry and saw the cashier. She had a couple napkins… and a receipt. “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to scare ya. Just thought you’d want your receipt and maybe some napkins for the outside of your drink. Do you maybe want a cup of ice?”

Feeling foolish, she reluctantly met the girl’s gaze again, meekly adding, “N-n-no. B-but thank. Uh, thank you.” The cashier nodded, walking away.

Dana looked down. “She write anything on the receipt?”

“What?”

“Like a snarky message or something?”

Cheryl looked at the paper and saw a smiley face. Her mind felt fuzzy thinking about this and she wanted to fix this weird tip fiasco. In trying to think, all Cheryl could do was resolve to come back with cash to give that cashier a proper tip.

Having settled the situation in her mind, Cheryl realized Dana had asked to meet her here to talk in the first place. The reason she was even here at all to suffer through this weird shame and embarrassment was because of Dana. What was so goodman important that this called for an in-person conversation?

“Oh,” Dana finally said, “nothing big. I was just thinking of going blonde like you and I wanted to make sure you were cool with it.”

Word Count: 1,000