so, one of the strange things about waiting is the line between the regulars and you. i work in the kind of place that is small and homey and everyone knows each other and i have the misfortune of working lunch so instead of knowing the fine-dining waiters from town who play in bands and drink neat whiskey after their shifts, i get to know cranky bank tellers smoking thru their hour off and silently cursing my sneakered feet and feigned youth. You see them dart eyes away when you cross paths, its a city, but a small one, with not many circles to travel and i so i this week inevitably find myself face to face with a daily non-tipper and she damnit, fuck knows my name and there i am in the whole foods with a six pack in one hand and a salad bar box in the other, and i mutter a hey and walk quickly away with purpose and the next day she comes in for her usual and she looks at me in a new, quizzical way, not the typical ' i come in everyday, cant you make my half and half tea to go quicker??' way, but different and then it occurs to me, after i have wrapped her meal and made her drink and run her card and taken a full 5 minutes away from people who actually may leave me some change, that i have on the same clothes as at the store the night before and she is probably in her bible-belt way smiling that she doesnt tip and therefore does not support my heathen ways.