The Tip Jar

The air was cold, and the wind cut through the jacket I wore over my black long-sleeved t-shirt and black jeans. It was 6:00 in the morning, and my shift at Scooter’s started as soon as I walked in the door. There were people in line at the register already, so someone (probably Lily) unlocked the door early. I would have no time to myself in the breakroom before having to jump behind the counter and start my day. Damn her.

I saw the usual people in line. I didn’t recognize any of them in particular, but I knew the types. There was a trio of ladies from the gym next door in Fabletics and sweatshirts. There was a harried mother with a baby in a stroller and a toddler gripping one hand. There was a middle-aged man in a suit, carrying a computer bag and wearing a BlueTooth in his ear.

The man in the suit was at the register first, berating someone for losing a file. Since we didn’t have any files–just coffee and muffins and smoothies–I assumed he was on a call. I wrapped the apron strings around myself and tied them in front.

“How may I help you, sir?”

“Do you have any idea how much this will set us back? Large black coffee. Check your trash, spam folder, everything. We need that file! Blueberry muffin. I don’t care if you checked already. Check again!”

I picked his order out of the barrage, rang it up, and said, “That’ll be $6.28, please.”

He tossed a ten dollar bill on the counter. “I want that file emailed to me within the hour. I have a call with the client at 8:00. If you don’t find it, consider yourself fired.”

I handed the change to him, and he shoved it in his front pocket. He moved to the end of the counter to wait for his order. He had not made eye contact with me during the interaction.

“Can I help who’s next, please?”

One of the three gym ladies stepped in front of the mother. “I want a large Caramelicious.”

“Whipped cream on that?”

“Do I look like I want whipped cream? I just worked out.” She turned back to her friends. “What is she? Stupid?” she said to them. The three of them cackled together.

“Alright. $5.47, please.”

“Here’s $6.00. I should get $.53 back.”

“Yes. Here you go.”

She counted the change before dropping three pennies into the tip jar. “Use that for community college tuition, Einstein,” she said. Her friends laughed, covering their mouths with manicured hands. They each ordered high-calorie drinks, but I didn’t make the mistake of asking about whipped cream again. I just took their money and thanked them.

I smiled at the mother and her children. Surely she would be a more pleasant customer than the ones I had had already. She met my smile with a frown. “I was here before those ladies. You should have waited on me first.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Whatever. Give me a small strawberry smoothie and give my son a small mango one.”

“Okay. That’ll be $7.46, please.”

“Really? Are you sure? That seems a bit high for two small smoothies.”

I checked the receipt. “That’s correct, ma’am. Each one is $3.49, and there’s the tax, too.”

“Can I talk to your manager, please? I’m sure that’s not right.”

“Yes, of course.” I called for Lily over the headset. As soon as she got to the register, I stepped away to help make drinks. She could deal with the mom.

For the next hour, I mostly just kept my head down and made orders. I was not feeling very people-y. Unfortunately, making orders and filling supplies allowed my mind to drift to things I would have preferred to forget. Namely, bills, and not just the kind that stole my earnings as quickly as they were deposited into my checking account. Also, Bill. My boyfriend.

It was complicated. Isn’t that what people on Facebook sometimes label their relationships? Complex. Intricate. Tangled. I loved him, I knew that. But he was hard to live with. He wasn’t a lovey-dovey, sensitive boyfriend. He was a down-to-earth, practical boyfriend. He wasn’t a “sweet nothings” boyfriend. He was a “tell-it-like-it-is” boyfriend. For example, he mentioned my weight before I left for work. He said I was “getting big.”

It hurt. I knew I had gained weight, of course. Still, it wasn’t pleasant to have it pointed out to me.

That was an understatement. It hurt like a bitch. My eyes began to sting as I recalled that moment. Then I called forward all the hurtful things he had said in the past…oh, I don’t know. How long had we been seeing each other?

“I thought you were smart.” “Maybe if you had done better in school you would have a better paying job.” “Why do you bother wearing makeup? It doesn’t do anything for you.” “That push-up bra doesn’t fool me, you know. You have small tits.”

I forgot all of the kind words. He had said plenty of them over the last three years. But I was in a full-on pity party now, so they didn’t enter the equation. And then I added all the hurtful things I had ever heard, including the barbs kids shot at each other on the playground. “You’re ugly.” “You’re stupid.” “You’re fat.”

Fucking people. They sucked.

But maybe they were right. Maybe the gym lady had a point. I wasn’t very smart. And Bill wasn’t lying. I was gaining weight. I continued to sink into self-pity and despair. Tears leaked from my eyes, and I dashed them away before anyone could see them. I began to wonder why I even tried. Why did I even take up space on this planet? That’s when the really dark thoughts began. What if I weren’t here? Would it make any difference to anyone at all? I thought about how I would do it, and even though I knew deep down that I couldn’t, I considered the knife I saw on the counter. It was that or sleeping pills. Those were my only options.

“Kaitlyn, we need you up front,” I heard on my headset. Oh, great. I get to deal with people again, I thought. I put the extra bundle of napkins away, stored the box of straws, and went to the front counter. That’s when I realized why I had been called to the front. The man standing there was dirty and likely homeless, as he carried a dingy backpack on his shoulder and his clothes were gray with age. No one else wanted to help him because he probably couldn’t pay anyhow. For a moment, my pity turned outward.

“Hello, sir. How can I help you?”

“I’d like a small black coffee, please.”

“Okay. We’ll have that right out for you,” I said as I typed it into the register. The drawer opened with a clang, and I shoved it closed again.

“How much is it?” the man asked.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about it,” I said. “It’s on the house.”

He held up a wrinkled dollar bill. “I can pay.” He held the bill out to me. I took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Why don’t you just keep that for next time?” I said. I hoped that he might be able to gather a few more of them and buy himself a meal. He must have read that in my face because his eyes watered, and he lowered his hand.

“You are kind,” he said. “Too kind to look so sad.” He dropped the single into the tip jar and walked to the other end of the counter to pick up his coffee.

I looked at the grimy dollar in the jar. It was likely the only money he had had. And he had left it with me because he thought I was sad. I was overcome by a rush of feeling for him. What a generous person. What a kind and perceptive soul. There were good people in the world after all. I thought about the self-pity I had been engaging in. There was really no good reason for it. I was a kind person, after all–so much more important than being smart (which I was) and beautiful (which I was) and thin (okay, two out of three wasn't bad).

The man stepped away from the counter with his coffee. He turned back and looked at me, and I gave him my first smile of the day.