Always tip your server

Since JohnnyMac is an avid golfer, making as many attempts to keep his 7 handicap as feasible, the visits to the course are fairly regular during what he considers warm months. In Atlanta, that is 9 out of 12. Typically, his golf outings lack any sort of scintillating detail. However, our friend Big Leaguer, also an avid golfer, recently shared this precious little tale. Perhaps golf can be sordid after all.

Big Leaguer and some of his wolf pack went to Florida for a little man time and back to back days of golf. These are not 20 year olds either. The first night, they went to Hooters for dinner. Oh, I assure you it is because of those incredibly delicious wings. Mmm hmmmm.

After enjoying, oh, I am guessing about the 3rd round of beers, one of the quartet got a bit surly when he got his  second order of wings. It seems he ordered twelve wings, and the server only brought him ten. He summoned her back to the table, all the while, giving her a little attitude.

Been to Hooters? These dames deal with all kinds of men. From the normal guy to the Eminem-stylin' jackass. I don't even go there and I know better then to give them attitude.

So Surly proceeds to upbraid her for an unnecessary amount of time. And counts each wing outloud as if she needed the extra help.

You want your extra wings, she asks.

YES I DO, Surly replies, extra hot.

My pleasure.

So shortly, she brings him not just two additional but an entire basket of wings. Extra hot, the way he asked. Which he consumes with giddy delight. They finish out their evening and go home for some rest before the early morning tee time at a prominent golf course.

The next morning, Surly feels a little off and assumes it is because of the beer. Perhaps. But the level of intake was fairly modest.

Out on the course, he feels a rumble. They get through two holes and he feels another rumble. He proceeds to lay down. On the golf course. And then he hurls. On the golf course.

All kinds of boyish pandemonium breaks out because men would never fret over or soothe a sickly friend like women do. Never.

Surly must leave to avoid further mockery and to freshen up. He doesn't quite make it off the course before he is sick again. He then disappears.

Hours later, the men hunt him down. Laying down on the floor in the men's locker room. Not a bench but the floor. Clad only in a golf towel.

Have you seen a golf towel? Oh, they are tiny. And even more so when draped across the southpark of a large man.

WTF is wrong with you, they ask (Male dialogue often free of any unnecessary niceties.)

He replies that he doesn't feel well.

And where the F are your clothes?

In the garbage.

Why?

Long pause.

Because while I was barfing, I sh*t my pants.

He spent three days in bed. Well, either in bed or in the bathroom alternating between heads and tails. Oh, he just had to speak up about the two missing wings, didnt he? Just had to count out his shortchanged plate for her on his chicken wing abacus.

Hmmmm. Let's review:

1. Don't be rude to a server.
2. Especially one very skilled at handling jerk offs.
3. Even more so when she is one handling your food.
4. Especially when your food contains spicy condiments and a blanket of
heinous orange sauce which can hide or mask a multitude of other things
5. Unless, of course, you too would enjoy the legend that
could precede you about the guy who shat his pants on the golf course.

And who knows what that gal may have added to those wings. Maybe a little extra tabasco. Maybe some jalapeno sauce. Maybe some urinal cake. Maybe some cockroach.

Who's to say, but this is you why you give tip, not lip, to your waitstaff.