Shout out to the two lovely French gentlemen I served at my job this past weekend. I have beef! Pardon, j’ai boeuf! Seriously, I was getting ready to get off my shift when a co-worker queried, “Do you speak any French?” Mustering up all of my courage and the two whole semesters of French I took at CofC, I walked toward you. Your English wasn’t so bad, but you couldn’t read the menu. “Moules,” you said. “Moules . . .” I repeated thoughtfully. Then I remembered, “Mussels!” I was beyond proud of myself as I pointed them out on the menu and put in your order. Between one serving of moules and two bieres, your tab wasn’t too high –only 17 big ones. But you know what? I expect at least three dollars as a tip on that. Not ONE MEASLY DOLLAR. I do not subscribe to the ignorant mindset that “If you ain’t American and can’t speak our language, then you can get out!” But if you can’t tip me well, then you can order in!