Ben Is For Beneficial

“I just wanna make sure you’re happy, okay? If you’re not happy, I want you to tell me. How much would make you happy? What’s your name again?”
-Ben

Dealing with drunks is part of working at a bar. Ditto that for dealing with crazy drunks. So, on Saturday, I wasn’t all that surprised that we had one. The far more surprising thing was that he, apparently, had way too much money and wanted to share it. Now, hearing someone blather on about how they’re going to “take care of you” isn’t that uncommon. Having them actually do it, is. Having them “take care of you” and then some, is, extremely rare. Ben wanted Dave and I to be happy. I think he also wanted us to like him.

So, when Ben and his two friends came downstairs on Saturday night, he gave Dave a twenty, asked for five in quarters, and told him to keep the rest. When Dave brought over a few free shots as a thank-you, he handed Dave a ten dollar bill. He was very emphatic about us making sure he and his friends weren’t “fucked with.” This was monstrously easy to do since the bar was dead and we barely had ten people downstairs throughout the whole course of the night.

Ben quickly ran out of cash. I ran his credit card three times, each of which I had to physically place the card into his hand for fear he’d forget it. Each of which I also filled in the tip and the total and he signed it without looking at the numbers. He was adamant about spending money. When I was running the second slip, and he was going on again about how his name is Ben and he wants to make sure I’m happy, I mentioned it was my birthday. He tells me to add another twenty dollars to my tip. Thanks man. So I put a thirty dollar tip on a $13.50 round of drinks.

As the night progresses, he ends up tipping me $50 on the credit cards. He keeps saying that he won’t be happy unless Dave and I both go home with $100 (which means we’ll be happy). Okay, I have no problem with that. So, at the end of the night, when he and his pals say “no more, we’re headed home” he wanders over to the bar for one more round of shots (two for him, two for Dave, and one for me that I never drink because he’s already bought me about four and I only drank those ‘cause it was my birthday and I felt like “what the hell?”) I hand him the credit card slip, $22.50. He asks me how much he should put for a tip, what would make me happy.

- Now, let me tell you that this guy has been demanding, not in a mean way, but in a “You know, I’ve got another table wanting drinks, let me bring those over before you make me take another shot” kind of way. He’s also been ranting on and on about how he makes way too much money. I made ten dollars the night before. It’s my birthday. And, he wants me and Dave to be happy. So, this is what I said:

“Well, you said you want me and Dave to go home with a hundred dollars each tonight, and right now we’re both up to about fifty. You wanna do a hundred, fifty for me and fifty for him?”

Ben said, “Alright, let’s do it.”

I filled out the slip, he signed it, and I handed Dave two twenties and a ten. We all went home happy. As for me, I’m kinda proud of myself. Normally, I wouldn’t have the balls to do something like that. However, on this particular night, I figured I had nothing to lose – especially given our benefactor’s lack of any kind of short term memory. Thus, by going with my impulse, I made Dave and I fifty dollars each in the course of ten seconds. Not bad for a night’s work. The best part, is that since I only had a few other customers, since most of Ben’s payments and tips were via credit card, and since I only start out each night with fifty dollars cash, by the end of the night, the bar ended up owing me money when I closed out my bank. Not bad for working on my birthday, eh?

P.S. This is the kind of thing that never happens. Don't start thinking this is in any way typical. What usually happens is people come in, talk big, and leave a lousy tip or stiff me on it.