tell me about it

I recite the order back at the customer, who is gaily decked out in a red, yellow and green Jamaican beret with fake dreadlocks cascading down his back - with a matching shirt.

“One bottle of Havana Club, four diet Cokes, two Asahi bottles, one pint of Heineken and a pint of Strongbow cider.”

He grins at me and bursts into song.

“AND A PARTRIDGE IN A PEAR TREEEEE!”

—

Guy Right beams at me as I put down their drinks.

“Thanks love,” he says, curling his hand around the pint glass.

“Cheers,” I reply (cheerfully).  “That’ll be twenty-four bucks, guys.”

Guy Right looks vaguely surprised.  Guy Left waves his arm expansively at me.  “No, no, he’s running a tab,” he informs me, and I glare at the misinformed captain’s order for a second before Indian Chap presses a fifty-dollar bill into my hand.

“I’ll take care of this round,” he tells me, but Guy Left shakes his head.  “Put it on the tab,” he contradicts.  I hold up the note, but Indian Chap seems disinclined to take it back.  Before I can say anything though, Guy Right, who has been studying my face all this while, suddenly pipes up again.

“You know, Beth,” he says, reading off my nametag, “you’re not pretty, but there’s something about your face that’s very attractive.”

I raise my eyebrows at him as Guy Left throws up his hands in horror.  “You don’t say that sort of thing to a lady,” he chastises Guy Right.  “And anyway, I think she’s beautiful.”  He smiles cherubically at me, but I’m still trying to digest what Guy Right has said.  My battered ego decides it’s better for me to take it as a compliment, so I just grin and tell them that everyone’s entitled to their own opinion.

Guy Right tries to make us understand what he means.  “No really, she’s not what you would call conventionally pretty, but there’s just something very attractive about her -” but he doesn’t finish because Guy Left roars at him to shut up.  Still, I sort of understand what Guy Right means, so I smile empathetically at him.

I’d almost forgotten about the note in my hand.  I hold it up again.  “So guys what do you want me to do with this?”  Indian Chap still makes no move to take it back, and I’m a little perplexed.  I try a bit of teasing.  “If none of you wants this I’d be happy to take this as a tip!”

Guy Left grins.  “Go on then.  It’s yours.  Keep it.”

I shoot him a look of surprise.  “You can’t do that, it’s his money!”  I indicate Indian Chap with a tilt of my chin, who has kept silent all this while, though judging by the look on his face has been greatly amused by all the verbal byplay.  “You can’t give away someone else’s money!”

Indian Chap finally speaks up.  “Oh yes he can,” he deadpans.  “He does it every day.  He’s a banker.”

“Oh, that explains everything!”  I laugh.

Guy Left looks at me.  “Seriously, take it.”  He folds my fingers around the note.  “Merry Christmas,” he says.

I look at Indian Chap, and he just smiles at me.  On the other side, Guy Right is still examining my features.

Finally I relent, and I incline my head in acceptance.

“Thanks, you guys.  Merry Christmas to you too.”

I go about my rounds to the other tables and by the time I get back to them, they’ve waved me over and placed the bill folder in my hand before kissing me on the cheek goodbye.  I crack it open after they’ve left - and it’s another ten-dollar note.