While I didn't necessarily need to eat this brownie (I have more than enough to last me the next 5 days), I couldn't ignore this feeling that I was avoiding the coupon because I would feel like a total deadbeat redeeming it. I feared that the waitstaff would think I was cheap, that I would be looked at as someone who was somehow less than. To live this experiment to the fullest, I had to go.
I didn't know anyone who worked there, yet I felt as if I had been transported back to high school. To clarify, high school wasn't great for me. To quote 'Dazed and Confused', "I keep getting older, and they stay the same [age]." If this were some kind of short story, this would be cathartic epiphany of sorts instead of mildly angst-ridden. But how about that brownie?
it's a 'blond' brownie. exotic! |
I sat in the lounge and wrote some thoughts as I enjoyed my brownie and hot water with lemon. I wondered how much of a tip to leave. This was a very tortured series of minutes. Do I leave a tip? If I don't does this prove that I have truly transcended caring what people think of me? If I realise this thought does that then negate it because I am trying to prove that point? It was aggravating. I finally decided that I would leave a $2 tip (60% of what the brownie would have cost) because I'm sure the waitress who brought me the brownie could use it for cab fare from the Mirage later on. I wish this post could be tied up with a neat bow; instead it's a little loose in the middle and one end is much shorter than the other.