It was a pleasure serving you this evening. Come back and see us soon. Oh and if you snuck me a little tip before you go, I wouldn’t be mad.
Know what I mean? I don’t want to hold you up explaining it. You had a nice, long dinner and I know you want to get home safely so I’ll put it to you like this: if you gave me a little cash—maybe a fiver, maybe more—and a pinch on the cheek, I wouldn’t curse loudly.
Or if you slipped me some real substantial gratuity while we firmly shook hands with unbroken eye contact, I wouldn’t scream bloody murder and flip the table and make a scene at all.
You look nervous. To clarify, I’m saying I WOULDN'T do those things. I WOULD NEVER weep uncontrollably while backing you into a corner and hold you there if you stuffed some cab fare into my breast pocket and gave me a little pat on the head. Get me?
All you need to understand is that if you threw me some dead presidents and gave me a quick little peck on the nose, I wouldn’t start taking my clothes off and running into traffic.
If you believe there’s some risk involved, then I guess you should do whatever feels safest. Remember, I wouldn’t be mad and nobody else—not even the scary people I’ve got following you around until I receive money and at least a five second hug—would either. We’d be just fine.
