There’s plenty of racism in the industry and I’m not just talking about old, white drunks who hate everything that isn’t British, American, and German. Restaurant workers often become racist overtime if they’ve dealt with many negative experiences, like drunk behaviour and poor tipping,  from certain demographics. Of course I could point out that social, cultural, and economic reasons (not race) is what drives usually stereotypical behaviour. I’d also point out most individuals don’t conform to their ‘stereotype’ and it makes sense you’re more likely to run into cheap and drunk people at cheap bars! 

But the realities are often ignored as racism is irrational and mostly based on fear, anger, upbringing, groupthink, etc. And while some demographics often tip more or less than others that doesn’t mean they ALWAYs do so. However, I’ll get off my high horse as most of us have bad days and make unfair assumptions even when we know we shouldn’t. I’m no exception I never expected what happened 10 years ago. 

***

I was serving the lunch/afternoon shift at the least favourite job in my career. It was near the end of my time there so morale wasn’t exactly high. The best staff members were gone, profits and tips were declining, and in response management kept cutting labour. So they’d send the rest of the lunch staff home at the first sign of a slow down and make me take EVERY table. Given we had a seating capacity of 30 tables and a full bartop I’d occasionally get screwed and drown in the weeds until reinforcements arrived at 4:30 p.m… when they weren’t sick or late!

You may be thinking “so what, you got to keep all the tips so suck it up” but the place wasn’t exactly a gold mine. It was a lower class, lame chain restaurant that catered to seniors, cheap families, and maladjusted dregs of society. That meant cheap deals, low check averages, and poor tips. To get more than $100 a day in tips you’d have to bust your ass harder than cute waitresses working a fraction the volume and intensity do that get $200-$300 at middle class chain restaurants. 

In fact, I’d usually get as many tips in a few hours on a weekend night if the lounge was busy and food and beer were flowing, versus the diminishing returns of a godforsaken weekday afternoon. You’d also at least get cute girls on the weekends so whenever I had to do a lunch shift it was like the kiss of death, with nothing to entertain the eyes.

The day itself was unremarkable and besides the relevant table I don’t recall much. I just remember having customers and tables everywhere from the bartop, the lounge, to each corner of the dining room. At least I was tall and in relatively good shape, which let me walk the long perimeter of the battlefield in stride, but the lines of communication became increasingly stretched.

***

Two teenagers came in. They were male, First Nations, roughly dressed, and didn’t look like they had a lot of money. In Canada there’s a lot of discrimination against First Nations people and the bar industry is no exception. I didn’t have time for small talk as I was running around but I sat them at a table they wanted around the corner, that was far from home base at the bartop. Treating them like everyone else I told them the specials, got their drink order, and continued on to my countless other tasks.

To be honest, I assumed I wouldn’t get much of a tip based on my experience, especially as they weren’t dressed well. But unlike countless servers that didn’t effect my professionalism or the level of service they received. One of the guiding principles of my career was a commitment to excellent customer service, which I’ve rarely betrayed despite bad tips and even rudeness. This likely didn’t even maximize my tips as most people actually DON’T tip based on merit or service, but it at least got me better shifts and sections versus lazier employees.

So I did all the things servers ARE SUPPOSE to do for every table: I refilled drinks, brought side plates and presets, did a quality check, asked if they wanted desert, and got the check out quickly at the end. This is what should be expected, but is often lacking at many restaurants, and I also made sure to be friendly, polite, and at least pretend I wanted to be working that day (which I didn’t). 

To be fair, they were easy to serve. They had two pops, two appetizers, no desert, were low maintenance, and weren’t chatty. They stuck around longer than most tables, which was fine given they caused no issues.

***

Eventually, they asked for the bill and I brought it immediately. Then I came back for payment a few minutes later. I don’t remember the exact total of the bill or how much they tipped. But it was nearly 10 years ago and the bill couldn’t have been more than $30. So when they handed me $50 or $55 I assumed it was a mistake as I couldn’t believe they would leave a 66%-83% tip. So I told them I’d get change but they stopped me. 

Taken aback I simply asked “why… that’s way too much?” Ten years later I remember exactly what one of them said: “Because you actually gave us good service and treated us with respect,” he said matter-of-factly and without bitterness. “But I just treated you two the same way I do everyone else,” I went on… trying to dodge the overgenerous tip. I can’t remember what he said next but he implied they regularly got poor, indifferent service, and while no one said anything else it was obviously due to racism.

At that point I stopped what I was doing… putting the money and my tray back on the table. I sat down across from them and said: “That’s not right you know… you shouldn’t be treated like that.” At that point they either gave me a half smile or they shrugged their shoulders. After an awkward silence I finally said “I’m sorry that happens to you…” Then they thanked me, insisted I keep the whole tip, and walked out with a level of dignity and class countless bartenders and servers kept trying to deny them. 

It wasn’t very busy by then so I just sat at the empty table for a while, in deep thought. For a moment I forgot how much I hated my job and being there that day. I felt guilty about the tip because it was too much and I had expected very little from them. But I also felt rotten on behalf of my industry for treating those teenagers like third class customers because of their race. So I leaned over, pocketed the money, and put my head in my hands for a few seconds to regain my composure. Then I got up, cleaned the table, and went about my day. 

***

I initially forgot about the experience, given how depressed I was back then. But looking back it remains my proudest moment of customer service. I’ve served big groups without flaw, charmed the most miserable clientele, and diffused some of the most volatile situations in the bar industry. Occasionally, I’ve even been told by people I gave them the best service they’ve ever received.

But none of that made me feel half as good as brightening the day for those two First Nations teens who had been consistently let down by the hospitality industry. And all I did was treat them the same way I treated every other customer. 

That says a lot about Canada and my former industry…