In my six months as a bartender I've had two tabs walk out on me. Both parties carried out the operation in curiously short-sighted fashion.
1. One day a guy came into the bar, handed me a credit card, and ordered a beer. He asked me if we hosted live music in the bar. I told him I didn't think so, but suggested he leave his contact information for me to pass on to my bosses. He gave me a business card.
He finished his beer and asked to settle up. My bar has a $20 minimum for credit card charges. His tab was three dollars.
Me: Sorry man, do you have any cash? I have a $20 minimum.
Him: I don't actually.
Me: There's at ATM next door. You wanna run over there and grab some?
Him: Ok, sure.
I handed him his card. He left and never came back.
I did however still have his business card, which contained his name, e-mail and phone number. So I texted him "I miss you." There were some regulars in the bar, and I asked them to do the same. He finally responded to one of them saying that he "must've misread the vibe." He then claimed he was returning but never did.
Anyway, it was only three dollars, and I should have mentioned the minimum at the start, and it's obviously a pain in the ass to pay a two dollar ATM surcharge on a three dollar beer. This was more a case of "broke and stupid" than "evil," and ultimately I have no real quarrel with this gentleman.
As for the other story...
As for the other story...
2. One night two girls came into the bar. We struck up a conversation. They told me about themselves. There was laughing. We got along well. I even gave them a round of shots on the house, which is far more generous than I usually am. They hung out for two hours, then asked for their check.
I handed it to them and walked away. A minute later I returned.
Girl 1: Hey. So. Bad news.
Girl 1: I like, lost my wallet!
She said this without an ounce of anxiety or concern. In fact, her delivery of the line was so phenomenally unconvincing, she caught herself and tried to compensate.
Girl 1: I'm like, freaking out.
Girl 1: My wallet. Missing. My heavens. Terrible.
I turned to the other girl.
Me: Uhh. So, do you --
Girl 1: Oh, she just lost her job! She doesn't have ANY money.
Me: Well, ok. What now?
She told me that she lived in Greenpoint and would be back later that night to pay the tab. She insisted on shaking my hand, repeatedly. And, true to those shakes, she returned an hour later with the cash and settled her debt.
Just kidding! She was lying.
So, I had to pay their tab, which was $28.
Not a big deal, again, this shit happens. However, during our original friendly conversation, Thelma and Louise pulled out their phones and showed me their Instragram feeds. I told them I would follow them. And I did.
When it became clear they weren't coming back, I posted on Girl 1's most recent picture: "Beginning to doubt those handshakes."
Over the next few days I began a campaign of writing bizarre (but harmless) comments on each of her photos. She posted a picture of birds on a wire. I wrote "Bird poop smells weird." She had a picture of herself dressed as an alarm clock. I wrote "This costume is a real wake up call." On this picture:
I figured I would just do that, every day, for the rest of my life.
I told my friends about the situation, and they of course pestered me to give them her name. I decided against doing this, for fear that they would attack her too cruelly/aggressively, and leave me on the hook for something (a retaliatory Yelp review or whatever) that might get me in trouble at work. The goal was simply to annoy her. I wasn't trying to start a war.
Alas, information yearns to be free, and after some light digging during a brunch that Saturday someone discovered her name. It spread quickly around the table. My friend Kevin Googled her name and discovered a news report about her getting arrested for crashing a wedding the previous month. And, sure enough, another friend went through her Instagram photos and attacked her too cruelly/aggressively.
That Monday, she fired back on one of my pictures.
"[sic] look you little punk as bitch stop writing crazy inappropriate shit on my Instagram its pathetic and weird!!! Have your faggot friends stop doing it too!!!"
After discovering this, I sent the small group of people who knew her name an e-mail requesting they call off the dogs. I couldn't just leave it at that, though.
Girl 1 had by now blocked me. So I posted this message, addressed to her, on one of her companion's (Girl 2) photos.
I had spared Girl 2 entirely during this whole affair because, as alluded to at the bottom there, she tried to give me $6 on their way out the door. I didn't actually appreciate the gesture all that much (it seemed pretty token and half-hearted), but oh well, it was something. Anyway, I thought the reference might play on her conscience a bit and/or drive a wedge between the two friends.
I now considered the matter closed.
And then, that Wednesday, at 1:30 in the morning, Girl 2 waltzed into the bar. She told me that my message stunned her. Apparently, Girl 1 had assured her she went back and paid. She handed me $28 (and later left a $5 tip). We talked briefly about what a dipshit her friend is. It was a marvelous time.
Of course, part of me suspects Girl 2 was in on it from the start, and just felt guilty after reading my comment (or scared that I might contact the police). Whatever. Wedge: DRIVEN. And I got the money back, which is all I cared about.
Aw what the hell. Let's make fun of some of Girl 1's photos before we go.
I reached into the heavens and unto eternity, and lo, I understood: My tattoos are fucking dumb.
Another man who clearly despises her. The caption claims this is her roommate. There is so much "that guy you brought home broke the sink" in that expression.
Okay, nice tits. You win this round.