Riding a Hog called Honda

I sat nervously, helmet strapped, behind my waiter. Well, he is not my waiter right now, but he was last night and almost every night. At 11 pm after closing the resturant, I swing by Around the Clock on 9th Street for a cup of Joe. Gavin works possibly more than I do so he is always "my" waiter. After a day of serving the curry craving population, I sit with my coffee and try to stop the tape recorder that has been running in my head for hours. "Welcome to Cafe Spice. My name is Felicia and I will be your server this evening." starts to muffle down to an actual conversation, still involving food, but usually with a little more personality. Gaven and I first met a few months ago when I went in to "the clock" for lunch. I had the most horrible waitress. Usually, I chalk bad service up to the server having a bad day.

But this woman was just horrible. There is no denying it. She smudged a large ash mark over all of waitering kind. No coffee refills, no water, I had to ask some one to get her so I could put in my food order. A twenty minute lunch turned into two hours. And I, was just about ready to forfeit her right to a tip.

Not many people know it, but servers make NO money. Well, it can be a decent amount but that depends on how good your are and how knowledgeable customers are to a servers lack of a pay check. For the past three months, each of my checks have come back void. A server makes between $1.55 and $4 and hour and the government takes all of it in taxes. When you charge a tip to credit card, the government taxes you on the full amount. But, 33 percent of my tips go to bussers, runners, bar so often, I am taxed on far more than I make. The result, NO paycheck.

Servers live on tips. And a NYC news flash: One should tip 15 percent as standard, for mediocre blaze service. Anything more than below average should get 18%. If you felt like your server was helpful, humble, and goes out of his/her way to make you comfortable, 20%.

So, just this once, I made an exception. I tipped 10%. I am the 20-25% type so 10% means you did a piss pour job and I think you should be punished. And in her case, the punishment was not just a bad tip. I also wrote a nice little note on my check slip ( all check slips are given to managers). Not only would she know that her service was horrible, but her superiors would be forced to keep her on her toes.

Gaven fits into this story because he was working the section next to ours and when our server went missing for twenty minutes plus, he would take care of us. We gave him $5 and wrote on the note that he deserves a promotion.

After three straight nights of visting Gaven at the Clock, yesterday afternoon, He took me and Hill (my roommate from last semester, the hostess at my restaurant, and over all one of my better friends) for a loop around the city. I have never been on a motorcycle before. They always seemed exciting but, I just never knew any one who rode one. I felt the power between my legs and I knew I was in total control. Even as a back seat rider, I had a sensation of being agile and mobile. The wind blew past at 45 miles an hour and the FDR flew by miles at a time. Riding a motorcycle isn't scary, it's freeing. As you float down the freeway on your hog, your heart pounds because at any second you could be cut off and go flying under these cars. But, most likely, things will be fine. Its just as dangerous to be flying solo as it is to be protected by all that chrome.

I officially want my own. I hate driving a car, its so mundane and claustrophobic. But the wind and weather always changes. No two bike rides are the same. You don't have to depend on the subway, which is never dependable when you need it to be. Gas prices cut in half because you don't use nearly as much as a car would. Not now, but some day, I hope to ride my very own hog.