On yet another slow evening, after a tedious shift that lasted much too long, I find on the floor of the coat check a small gold bracelet. Hearts, inset with diamonds, a pricey little bauble, I have an idea who it belongs to, the drunken last table, they'll be back for it...
Tuck it in a drawer, think nothing of it, the next day they pick it up.
A*****, he tells the nephew about it. And his face drops, he can't believe I returned it, he's frothing at the mouth, spitting, he coins a new nickname for me:
"Rodding Hood - Steals from the poor and gives to the rich..."
He's strongly of the mind that it's finders-keepers. That we could all have denied finding it, she could have lost it anywhere, we could have all pawned it and split the money, and for the rest of the week I'm treated to absurd sketches of how we should all band together to give our tips to our richest of customers, help them to buy better luxury cars, newer model Ferrari's and Lamborghini's, "Mother Teresa...Santo Dio..."
I argue from moral absolutes, it's the right thing to do, he'd have done the same I'm sure, but the continued comedy has begun to have me doubting...