I drove over to Charlie’s Truck Stop this past week to pick up some milk and bread. Mister Johnson’s old pickup truck was parked to the side and toward the back of the store as I drove up. The Reverend Johnson was unloading wood and carrying it into the store. It seems that since Mister Johnson’s death, his brother has taken up keeping Jake’s pot belly stove supplied with wood.

I parked in front of the store by the gas pumps and got out of the car. I waited a few minutes for Jake to come out and, when he didn’t, I began to fill the gas tank myself. I enjoy getting my gas at Charlie’s where Jake comes bustling out of the store to fill ‘er up for you but, if Jake is busy, I know how to put the gas in myself. I topped the tank off and screwed the cap back on. I went inside and saw Jake at the counter bagging up groceries for Marcia Wilson. Her three children were with her and they were all three whining that they wanted some candy or gum or whatever was within reach and Marcia was carrying on her business with Jake just as though the kids were not even there. Every so often she would turn to one of the children to tell them they could not have a certain item they were begging for or to take something from the hand of another child and replace it on the shelf but, for the most part, it was as though the children were not with her. Jake finished bagging up Marcia’s groceries and she paid him. Then he picked up an arm load to help her carry her purchases out to her car. A couple bags were left over and I grabbed them and walked out with Jake.

Marcia thanked us for our help and bundled her whining kids into the car and drove off. Jake apologized for not coming out to fill the tank and I told him not to mention it. It does not hurt me to put in my own gas on occasion. It was a nice day and Jake thought we might have an early Spring. We have not had all that much winter this year, just a couple weeks of cold and a lot of rain, but no real Winter. Jake does not mind as, at his age, the cold really seeps into his bones. Back inside I paid for the gas and told Jake I was going to gather up some milk and bread and a few other things and Jake went back to stocking the shelves.

I wandered over to where the Reverend was just finishing up with bringing in the wood. Ronnie Clayton was putting a couple sticks into the stove and Hurshel Ledbedder was standing there with a cup of coffee. Hurshel was talking about how he had been in a restaurant in Tupelo where there was a sign on the wall advising the customers against tipping the waitress. The sign insisted the employees at the restaurant were paid adequately and did not require a tip. Hurshel was saying more restaurants should put up those sorts of signs. He thought it was nice to go into a place where the service was free. Some restaurants don’t even give you a choice about tipping. They just add a percent on top of the cost of the meal for a tip if you want to give a tip or even if you don’t.

Ronnie asked about the service in the restaurant and Hurshel said it was all right, but nothing to write home about. His wife, Dolly, had something of a problem getting the waitress’ attention when she wanted a refill of tea, but there were no complaints. Ronnie was of the opinion the waitresses in that restaurant did not likely agree with the sentiments of the sign. He suggested asking Marcia Wilson how she feels about a no tipping policy. Marcia is a single mother who works in one of the nicer restaurants in Corinth. Marcia makes most of what she brings home to feed her three children from the tips her customers leave her. By all accounts, Marcia is an excellent waitress who serves her customers well.

Ronnie had, in years past, been friends with a family in Nashville, Tennessee. Ronnie had a tradition of taking the family out to Christmas dinner each year. About six years ago it happened the man of the family was out of town and would not get in until much later that evening, so it was decided to go out to eat and to have a carry-out prepared for the father. The meal went well and the waitress was attentive, stopping by the table several times to ask if anything else was required. On the waitress’ final stop, Ronnie asked that a carry-out be prepared. He paid the check and included a generous tip as reward for the waitress’ attentive service. She thanked Ronnie and went to have the carry-out prepared. Ronnie noticed the waitress was personally supervising preparation of the carry-out, making certain it was done properly. As Ronnie and the family prepared to pick up the carry-out at the counter, Ronnie heard the waitress ask another waitress to take care of her table while she finished up with the carry-out. She insisted the man boxing up the food add an extra roll and handed the carry-out to Ronnie thanking him for his business and asking him to come back the next time he was in town. Ronnie has noticed a tip to the right waitress can make a big difference in the service at a restaurant.

Hurshel had some things to do around the house and picked up some bread and went to pay Jake. The Reverend turned to me and asked how long I have been writing the Charlie’s Reports and I said about a year and a half for the Corinthian and somewhat longer on an irregular basis for the Clear Channel folks. Reverend Johnson said he likes to read my stuff, but he wonders why I made his brother sound so artificial. Mister Johnson was a southern black man and he talked like a southern black man. I was taken aback by the criticism and tried to explain that, should I have tried to reproduce the manner in which Mister Johnson actually spoke, some people who did not know the man might have thought I was making light of him. I wanted everyone to respect him as his friends did. The Reverend seemed satisfied with my answer, but the criticism set me to thinking on how I might have done better writing about my friend, Mister Johnson.

END