Fair Tips

After curling one night a group of us went to a pub and grub. One of my buddies, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, left early. He left his credit card receipt on the table after he signed it, adding a six dollar tip for the waitress.

It was a fair tip, to be honest. But not fair enough. I added a one before the six.

At 7:30 the next morning I got a call from Cloyce. He monitors his credit and debit cards religiously. "Did you mess with my credit card?" he asked.

"Now why would I do that?" I responded innocently.

"You did, didn't you? You expletive."

Hey, I was going to give him his money back. But he called me an expletive, so expletive that.

Gentle Reminder

Three Sundays ago as me boys and I returned to our hotel after seeing the Red Sox at Fenway Park and then making a literal walk of several historic sights in downtown Boston, we were a bit tired. Well, they were: the old man was ready for another several hours of sightseeing. The night was young! 

Be that as it may, we elected to eat a late dinner at the restaurant in the hotel rather than taking a chance on finding a place somewhere else on a Sunday evening. 

As the pub and grub was open until 10 and we walked in around 8:45, we figured we wouldn't be inconveniencing the staff. Still, we sat at a table for better than ten minutes without attention. We began to whisper between ourselves about perhaps simply grabbing a pizza from the carry out joint we saw a block away. At that point the waiter walked around the bar to approach us.

Or so we thought. He came near but breezed on by, and actually on out the front door. Okay.

A few more minutes of our lives burned off and I finally suggested, maybe a tad louder than necessary, that we ought to just trudge across to Domino's when me son Frank ever-so-gently gave me about the softest elbow to the ribs a guy might get. He saw where I hadn't that the waiter was finally coming up with menus. "Can I get you fellows anything to drink?" he asked, very pleasantly.

So we ordered our dinners and ate, and he was reasonable attentive after that. Yet what I will always remember about the night was the most subtle possible poke in the the ribs a man could ever imaging getting.

Whither Ginger Ale

I was in a restaurant and bar with the Ohio Cosgriffs in Sault Ste. Marie Michigan on Monday. They did not have ginger ale in the bar, although the Ohio Cosgriffs themselves did considerately bring some up north with them. But I don't understand why so many pub and grubs don't offer it.

That wasn't the first time that's happened to me. I have taken to ginger ale in recent years and had always thought it a staple among soft drinks. Perhaps you will not find it in every single eatery, true, but the number which do not have it surprises me. Even more surprising are the establishments with full bars which don't carry it. Isn't ginger ale a common mixer? Wouldn't you expect that in bars?

Monday, I drank Coke instead and was happy enough to have it with my dinner. Still, I just don't get why ginger ale has become so hard to find. C'est la vie (such is life) I suppose, but I might have to try my hand at C'est la guerre (such is war) if it doesn't start turning up.