That's my tip jar!

As I walked into the juice bar, and glanced up at the menu, I wondered what to order. Should I get a raspberry blast or a banana swirl? I casually glanced around the small area, noticing several people waiting for smoothies to come up, but no one was placing an order. With a raspberry blast and vita-gizer on my mind I moved towards the broad stainless steel order counter. At one end of the L-shaped counter was the electronic cash register and as I approached I noticed the cashier moving about just behind. She was very indifferent and aimlessly glancing around as if to say 'do I have to take your order?' I patiently and egotistically waited for her to take my order and immediately became aware that this girl was exactly the kind of person an owner doesn't want working as cashier. She wasn't friendly at all and boy did she have attitude and boy was it hard to tell that she was a girl!

"I'll have a raspberry blast with a vita-gizer supplement," I said, reaching for my wallet; I was thinking to myself I paid $4 the last time.

The androgynous cashier said, "four o one."

I went fumbling for my frequent smoothie card knowing this one wasn't free but I wanted credit. Buy 10 get 1 free! The cashier stamped my card while I managed to find a ten dollar bill. Then I went straight for my left front pants pocket hoping to find a penny. No luck. I quickly began searching the counter top for a penny dish; my hand dived into a tall jar and I mindlessly grabbed a penny from the bottom. I didn't make much of the creased single dollar bill standing on edge in the jar or the 'tips' label on the front of the jar. It was a completely unconscious move.

"Here's a penny!"

"That's my tip jar!" she said without hesitation and a lot of ownership.

Dropping the penny, I quickly pulled my hand out of the jar. Suddenly, my mind started working on whether or not I should leave a tip; after all, I was getting 99 cents in coinage back. She returned five dollars and ninety nine cents and I nervously watched her as she turned around, picked up an empty blender container and stuck my order label to its side. Then she moved to a back counter and pumped something into my container. Oh shit. Was she going to be making my smoothie? Would she make me a good one if I didn't leave a tip; who knows what she might add to it. She glanced my way, watching me, as I stuffed the five dollar bill into my wallet and pocketed my change. I wasn't leaving a tip and I stared back nervously.

She had a round, plump face with high cheek bones, olive skin and dark curly hair that was mostly pulled up in her cap. Then I was relieved to notice that she set my blender down at the start of the line and headed back to the counter; another worker picked up my blender. Whew! She wasn't making my smoothie. I moved to the side and watched as my blender made its way around the smoothie assembly line.

"Raspberry blast up!"