Fifteen Percent

Fifteen Percent

By: Kevin J. Prentice

   Timothy J. Wallenhurst raised his hand in the air, and once he caught the attention of the waitress he mimed jotting something down with a pen, the universal sign for ‘check, please’.

   “I must admit,” Ciara Teagarden, Timothy’s guest at Sear’d Steakhouse, began, “Coming into this dinner, with the history of our companies, I wasn’t sure if we’d be able to reach a deal.”

   The waitress, dressed in black pants, white button shirt, and black bowtie, placed the check contained in a vinyl binder on the table.

   “Can I interest you in anything else this evening?” She asked, hands behind her back. “Our chef has a special mini-chocolate torturi on the menu this week.”

   “No thank you, I think we’re all set.” Timothy answered.

   The waitress removed the remaining plates from the table.

   “…But I’m feeling pretty good about this.” Ciara smiled,

   “That could be the wine.” Timothy joked as he filled out the check and placed his credit card into the specialized sleeve in the binder.

   “How long are you in town for?” He asked.

   “Only until Sunday night. I have to be back at the office Monday morning.” Ciara rolled her eyes at the prospect of such little time to recover from traveling.

   “The dairy industry never sleeps.” Timothy continued his roll of well-intentioned wise-cracks.

   “Indeed, and thank god we are working out the details of a new and improved transportation contract.” Ciara, referencing the details they worked out over T-bone steaks and two bottles of Chianti, motioned towards Timothy. “We’ll be able to up our transpo by fifteen percent.”

   “Indeed.” Timothy echoed her sentiment.

   “As long as it’s all done ethically of course. Low carbon emissions, green transport…”

   “Of course.” Timothy saw an opportunity to reiterate his sales pitch, “At CVA transport we are on the vanguard of eth-,”

   “Excuse me, sir,” The waitress appeared at the table.

   “Yes?” Timothy answered, only slightly turning his head towards the waitress.

   “Your card seems to be declined.”

   “Seems to be or is declined?”

   “Is. It is declined.”

   “Run it again.” Timothy instructed the waitress with a more stern tone from the side of his mouth as he tried to keep his conversation with Ciara alive.

   “I’ve already ran it four times, sir.” The waitress defended herself.

   “So do it a fifth.” Unable to control his anger as he slowly sensed loss of control in the situation, Timothy exclaimed the end of his sentence with his hand coming down hard on the table.

   Ciara began to feel the tension grow, and it made her uncomfortable, causing her to piddle and pick at the cloth napkin still strewn over her lap.

   “It’s ok.” She finally chimed in. “I can charge it to my company card. It is a business expense after all.”

   “No!” Timothy rebuked her idea without a moments hesitation.

   “Sir,” The waitress began again, now matching Timothy’s tone and lack of manners. “I’ve ran it every possibly way and each time it has come back as declined. There is quite literally nothing more I can do.” She let the silence hang for just moment and then the waitress made her move. “Perhaps you just don’t have enough funds in there at the moment to cover the bill.”

   Shots fired across the bow of Timothy’s ego. The waitress, after five years of waiting on wealthy patrons who treated her like a substance found on the bottom of their shoes, found her opportunity to turn the tables. She did just that. Ciara had to put her hand over her mouth, in disbelief of what she just heard, to cover up her involuntary laughter.

   “That’s funny.” Timothy responded without laughing. “That’s really funny. Did you hear what she just said to me?” He pointedly asked Ciara. “Maybe I don’t have enough in my account to cover the bill. That’s what she just said to me.” Timothy continued to talk about the waitress as though she did not stand right next to him. “This watch,” He pointed to the gold Rolex on his wrist, “This watch costs more than she would make in a single week. It could probably feed her bastard children for three months and she thinks I don’t have enough in my account to cover this…this…happy meal? Unbelievable.”

   Ciara truly felt bad for the beratement the waitress endured at the hands of Timothy, a well-groomed slick piece of scum.

   “Maybe you spent all of your money on the watch and that is why your card is declined.”

   Boom. The waitress refused to backdown, and Ciara wanted nothing more than for her to keep going.

   “How much is the bill again?” Timothy snatched the vinyl binder from the waitress’ hand. “Two-hundred thirty-two dollars and nine cents.” He read matter of factly. “I can make that in five minutes with my eyes closed.” He let the bill fall onto the table and reached into his pocket to pull out a rolled up wad of money for each denomination. He peeled off two one-hundred dollar bills, a twenty, a ten, and two singles. He searched his pocket once more.

   “Thats right. I forgot I don’t carry any coin on me. Do you have a dime?” He asked Ciara.

   Stunned, Ciara searched her purse and reluctantly gave Timothy a dime. The waitress, catching on to the punishment that Timothy intended to doll out, rolled her eyes and wished that she had any other job at the moment.

   “Here is two-hundred and thirty-two dollars and TEN cents.” Timothy put the money haphazardly into the binder and held it up, never turning his attention to the waitress. She grabbed for it. Timothy refused to let go. “Let this be a lesson for you that is more valuable than any tip you could receive.” He turned his head and looked the waitress in the eyes. Don’t be a cunt.”

   He let go of the bill, satisfied that he re-established his dominance over the waitress. A smile crossed his face.

   “Shall we?” He asked Ciara.

   Stunned by the downward turn of events, Ciara stammered and made an excuse for some privacy.

   “S-sure, I just have to use the restroom real quick.”

   “Take your time. I’ll meet you by the front doors.”

   In the privacy of the woman room, Ciara replayed the events over in her head and listened to the message that her gut screamed at her. She grabbed her cellphone and composed a text message to her boss.

   “Just finished dinner. Tim from CVA CRUSHED our waitresses feelings and embarrassed her. No tip and called her the C-word. Gut says to look into other contracts for transportation. He’s a scumbag.” She sent the text.

   Almost instantly she say the bubbles pop up that indicated her boss began typing a message. It came through.

   “Oh no! Sorry to hear that. CVA did have promising aspects about their company, but if it doesn’t feel right then it doesn’t feel right. We’ll discuss looking for a different transportation company on Monday. Get back SAFE!”

   “Sounds good. Thank you!”

   Ciara put her phone back into her purse. She looked at herself in the mirror. She felt a sense of relief. If she could not stand up for the waitress during the argument, she could comfort herself knowing that Timothy’s outburst cost him and his company a lucrative deal. That would be enough for her.