Most mornings I drive out to one of the national restaurant chains for a breakfast. Recently, I saw this little shanty on the side of the road that advertised breakfast biscuits and pulled in to give it a try.
The building was very small, there was no inside seating, and you were served from a widow that faced an enclosed porch. An elderly lady was busily cooking on a large gas range that almost filled the entire kitchen.
The woman took my order of a sausage and egg biscuit and even though the biscuit bread was already baked, it took somewhat longer to cook and assemble the meal than it does at say a McDonald’s or Hardee’s.
She carefully wrapped the finished biscuit in foil, placed it on the counter, and told me the price. As I was fumbling with my billfold, she asked, “Are you gonna give me a tip?”
I smiled and told her I certainly was and added several more dollars to the money I was preparing to hand her.
“The last guy didn’t give me no tip,” she said. “I’m pretty sure he was from New York.”
The building was very small, there was no inside seating, and you were served from a widow that faced an enclosed porch. An elderly lady was busily cooking on a large gas range that almost filled the entire kitchen.
The woman took my order of a sausage and egg biscuit and even though the biscuit bread was already baked, it took somewhat longer to cook and assemble the meal than it does at say a McDonald’s or Hardee’s.
She carefully wrapped the finished biscuit in foil, placed it on the counter, and told me the price. As I was fumbling with my billfold, she asked, “Are you gonna give me a tip?”
I smiled and told her I certainly was and added several more dollars to the money I was preparing to hand her.
“The last guy didn’t give me no tip,” she said. “I’m pretty sure he was from New York.”
