The Hiatus Resolved: Cow Tipping

Hello, dear and darling readers. I apologize for the week-long hiatus. Life got a little hectic, and then I was lucky enough to have my brother here for four days, during which time I took a break from the internet world. I am back and ready to write, and I shall keep writing at least every other day for you loyal readers out there. :) Just so y'all know, the fact that people actually follow the silly happenings of my life on the West Coast makes me immensely happy, and gives me fuel for fodder, so thank you.

I must first begin with the retelling of an absurd incident that speaks particularly to all the folks from Texas.

After working at Zeke's Smokehouse for roughly two weeks, I found myself bored one night. Often, when I'm bored, I draw or color - call it a childhood habit that has manifested itself into a full-blown DIY crafty, coloring obsession. I thought back to a saying that served me well while bartending: "Tipping: it's not just for cows anymore." When I bartended my first private party, this sign made everyone smile, and it also helped my tip jar out. I also felt this sign would make a perfect addition to a BBQ joint, so I proceeded to draw it out, in artsy-fartsy letters, on a little sign, which I placed next to our tip pail at the checkout counter. My manager that evening noticed the sign a few hours later, and he commented that it was funny and that I should leave it up. I grabbed a few pieces of tape and stuck it to the counter, pleased that my little piece of artwork had been so well received.

The following day, I came in to work, clocked in, and walked over to the register, where I noticed that my sign was nowhere to be seen. I paused for a second, very much confused, and turned to one of the waiters. "Did someone take down my sign?" I asked. "Yeah," he gloated. "Oh," I commented, beginning to be concerned, "who?" He smirked and replied, "the owner." At this point, panic washing up from my gut to my face like a wave of nausea, I hesitantly asked, "Oh no.. was she angry?" to which he replied - still smiling - "yeah, it was a little offensive. We've never had a sign before."

My brother and close friends and family can all attest to the fact that I am made upset very, very easily. It annoys me to no end, and even makes me angry, but the moment I feel I am in trouble with someone, I have borderline anxiety attacks. I almost always have to fight back tears, I get choked up.. it's ridiculously embarrassing. When I was in seventh grade and was sent to the Vice Principal's office for a very petty dress code violation, I was such a wreck by the time I got there that he had to calm me down before telling me it wasn't really that big of a deal, and that I just needed to change my shirt. No biggie. But to me, it was apocalyptic in scope. The owner of the restaurant being infuriated at my boldness as a new employee nearly sent me into hysterics.

I continued prepping the area around the register, trying to stay busy, and sipped water out of my plastic cup in an attempt to calm down. The owner (rather, his wife, but the same difference in this case) was busy with other items of business around the restaurant, and I kept going back and forth in my head as to whether or not I should profess my unending apology to this woman to prevent being fired. I kicked myself for assuming I could put up a sign in a classy establishment without first asking. And then I noticed the owner's wife striding toward me, purse in hand as though she were about to leave. I gulped and feigned a smile, trying to mentally prepare for the coming outburst.

"Chelsea, hun," she kindly remarked, "about your sign-". Cue interruption of excessive verbal diarrhea, when I tried to explain without taking in any air that I was very sorry and would never again do something so outlandish as make a tip sign.

"Oh no," she replied, "I don't really mind the sign. I mean, we've never had one here, but we have one at our other location. I just didn't know what the sign meant, and somebody had to explain it to me." My eyebrows began to partially unfurl, as I found myself utterly confused. She continued, "once someone explained to me what 'cow tipping' was, and that people actually do that, I was just horrified! That's so horrible! So, I don't mind if you want to make a little sign, just maybe something a little different? The other restaurant has one that says, 'support counter intelligence', and I think something like that would be cute." She then smiled and walked away.

Stunned, my desire to cry quickly shifted to a burning desire to laugh. Here I was, positive I was about to lose my job, and over what? The restaurant owner was offended over the concept of cow tipping.

Seriously? Did that moment really just happen?

Needless to say, my shift improved immensely as the evening progressed. But as a word to the wise, all you Southerners out there, beware: people on the coasts can be touchy, when it comes to cows. I'm just saying.