Fifteen Little Rock Hash House Harriers, including Rock, sat together at a local restaurant to discuss their roles in an upcoming project. They left after an hour, during which none of them ordered anything, though a young blonde waitress came by every few minutes to refill their water glasses.
Rock was the last to get up and noticed that no one had left a tip, so he opened his billfold and reached for a twenty as the waitress approached.
"Here, this is for you," Rock said.
"Oh, that's really not necessary," she said.
"Sure it is."
He handed her the bill but noticed it was a five. "Wait," he said. "I meant to make that a twenty."
"Oh no," the waitress said. "That would be way too much."
"No. No, I insist. In my mind, a tip shouldn't always be calculated as a percentage of the check. I know we didn't order anything, but you did a lot for us. Please, take this."
Rock now held a twenty, but the waitress instead reached into his billfold and pulled out a ten.
"Let's compromise," she said. "This will be plenty."
Rock looked in frustration toward a graying middle-aged man seated at an adjacent table.
"I wouldn't argue with her," the man said. "You got no chance."
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