I used to work as a waiter and I never got any tips. I suppose it was just the area... too many artsy-types and musicians, I guess. The only two people at the place that I ever saw get any tips was this one little Argentinian gal and this really psychedelic bearded fellow named Paul.
Paul wasn’t actually a waiter as much as he was some sort a currency transferring operative, but I guess he did talk a spiel or eight to the customer. Man, that guy could go on. He was always talking about Sundays for some reason. I think he talked so much ’cause he wasn’t too smooth with the register itself, and I guess he was trying to smooth over his fumblings or whatever. I recall the boss and an odd employee or two complaining about his retardation behind his back, but I always thought he was a swell enough guy. Oh, I could go on forever.