You know it is bad when a boy no longer asks for your number but asks for your Facebook instead (of which I have none). You know it is really bad when a man in his 60s asks for your Facebook (of which I definitely have none). But you know it is the worst when a boy says, “I will give you my number if you discount my drink.”
I pride myself on holding my tongue when a customer tempts me, but you can bet your derriere I will Taylor Swift you in print.
I could tell my table of three boys were on the prowl when they boisterously proposed buying a round of drinks for my other table of twenty college girls, but the prowl fell short with the help of low confidence and shallow pockets. With heads hung low, we moved from bragging to drink orders, and Dopey convinced the pack of two to share a twelve dollar bottle of sake.
The sake did not bode well with the group, and Dopey found himself in need of redemption, so like any tasteful person, he began to bargain.
It began with the request for an exchange (denied), but he would settle for a discount (denied), which led to him offering up the real goods when he laid all the cards out on the table, offering his number in exchange for a discount (super denied).
I was offended that this measly boy thought I was cheap and desperate enough to jump at the opportunity for a possible sext. He thought the other girls were out of his league, but that he was out of mine.
I terminated the conversation with a hot minute of intense eye contact, but the road to desperado did not end there.
Be it the small pluck of courage gained from a swig of sweet sake or a second wind of determined prowling, Dopey’s friend sauntered up to the one person in the restaurant he thought could not possibly turn him down, my Chinese co-worker. She cannot speak or understand English well, but her reply to his best attempt at a smoldering charm was “I’m married,” which he followed up with “is it serious?” to which she answered “I’m married?”
It was a romance of the ages.
The boys waited until the party of college girls left them as the last remaining table, and relievedly threw in the towel with a weak “we’ll get ’em next time” leaving a five percent tip for my time. Please sir, really, you need not do me any more favors.
Be it the fact that my fellow female coworkers and I are paid two dollars and $2.13 an hour, the modern gentleman seems to think it is okay to scream cat calls from across the bar or get handsy in a drunken fit. The level of disrespect people have towards those who handle their food astonishes me because we remember those who treat us like cheap hookers. Some servers I know are not as nice as me.
So for all the Dopey’s out there and the sexual harassers, in the words of P!nk, remember that there is a reason it is just you and your hand tonight.