I caught them effortlessly, but I was confused.
“What’s this for?” I asked. They didn’t look like car keys, and I already had my mom’s old car anyway.
My dad nodded toward a dusty tarp in the corner of the garage. It had been there for as long as I could remember, covering up something that I was told not to touch.
When I pulled the tarp off, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was my dad’s old Harley, a ’73 Shovelhead. It was the stuff of my childhood dreams, the bike that had always seemed just out of reach.
All I had wanted to do when I was younger was steal my dad’s leather jacket and sit on the motorcycle. But he always shouted at me whenever I tried to touch it.
“If there’s one scratch on it, Seth,” he would say, “I’ll take all your spending money away.”
That was enough to keep me away from the dream bike.
“You’re giving me the Harley?” I asked, my voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.
My father shrugged it off like it was nothing.
“Yeah, why not, son?” he declared. “It hasn’t run in years, to be honest, so good luck with that. Consider it a late birthday gift, Seth.”
I could barely believe it.
I was finally going to ride that bike, and feel the engine roaring beneath me, the wind in my hair. It was going to be everything I had dreamt of and more. I was finally going to be like my dad.
I ran my hand over the cracked leather seat, taking in the gift.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “I promise I’ll take good care of her.”
The moment those keys were in my hand, that motorcycle became my new obsession.
“Jeez, son,” the mechanic said when I took the Harley over in a friend’s old pickup truck. “There’s a lot to be done here. But I can do the big things for you, and you’ll be able to sort out the smaller things if you’re confident enough.”
I saved every penny from my barista role at the café. I was extra polite to all my customers, hoping for large tips, ready to go straight into the motorcycle restoration fund.
Soon, my nights, weekends, and any and all free time I had were spent outside with the motorcycle. I tore it down and put it back together, better than ever, restoring old parts. I watched countless YouTube tutorials and read every manual I could find.
“What are you doing now?” my roommate, Brett, asked when I was hunched over my laptop on the couch.
“I’m looking at forums online for tips about the motorcycle,” I said.
“That’s all you do these days, buddy,” he said, chuckling.
Fourteen months later, the day finally came. I polished the last piece of chrome, stood back, and admired my work. The Harley gleamed under the garage lights, looking like it had just rolled off the assembly line.
“Good job, Seth,” I muttered to myself.
I could hardly contain my excitement as I thought about showing it to my parents, especially my dad. I imagined the pride on his face, the way his eyes would light up when he saw what I’d done.
I hoped that he would finally be proud of something I had done. But nothing prepared me for what was to come next.
I rode it over to my parents’ house, the engine purring beneath my legs like a big cat. As I parked in the driveway, I felt a rush of nerves. I hadn’t felt this anxious since I was waiting for my acceptance letter for college.
“Mom? Dad?” I called, walking into the hallway.
“We’re in the kitchen,” my mom called.
I walked into the kitchen, and there they were. My dad was drinking a cup of tea, and Mom was busy putting together a lasagna.
“I’ve got something to show you!” I said. “It’s outside.”
They followed me outside, their eyes going wide when they saw the motorcycle.
“Oh my gosh, Seth,” my dad exclaimed. “Is that the Harley? My old Harley? She looks beautiful!”
“Yes,” I said, grinning. “I’ve spent the last year working on it. What do you think?”
Before they could answer, my dad moved closer to the motorcycle. His eyes narrowed as he took it in. He ran his hands along the chrome as though he couldn’t believe his own eyes.
“You did all this?” he asked, his voice tight.
“I did!” I said, beaming proudly. “Every spare moment and extra cash went into this project. And now she’s perfect.”
For a second, I thought I saw pride flicker in his eyes, but then his expression changed. His face darkened, and I felt something change in me.
“You know, Seth,” he said slowly, “this bike is worth a hell of a lot more now. I think I was too generous when I gave it to you.”
I blinked, not understanding.
“What do you mean, Dad?”
My father cleared his throat, not meeting my eyes.
“I’m going to take it back,” he said, his tone final. “And I’ll give you $1,000 for your trouble.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, barely containing my anger.
He nodded.
“It’s only fair, Seth.”
I wanted to yell, to tell him how unfair he was being, how much time and money I’d poured into that bike. But I knew that arguing wouldn’t get me anywhere. My father was too stubborn.
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you think is fair.”
He looked surprised that I didn’t fight him on it, but I wasn’t done with my revenge. If he wanted to play dirty, then fine. I could play that game too. I just needed to be smarter about it.
A few days later, I saw my father posting on social media about his “newly restored” motorcycle and that he was taking the Harley to an upcoming bike meet with his old biking buddies.
“Now it’s on,” I said to myself.
When the day of the meet arrived, I watched from a distance as my father rolled up on the Harley, looking every bit the proud owner of a beautiful bike. He revved the engine, drawing the attention of everyone in the parking lot.
But what he didn’t know was that I’d made a little modification of my own.
Under the seat, I’d installed a small switch—it was nothing fancy. But it was a precaution in case the Harley was ever stolen. The switch, when accessed, would cut off the fuel line with a quick flick of the remote, which was firmly planted in my hand.
I waited until he was right in the middle of the crowd, basking in the admiration, and then, from a distance, I pressed the button.
The Harley sputtered, the engine dying with a weak cough. Soon, my father’s smug grin disappeared as he tried to restart it, but the engine wouldn’t give.
The murmurs began, making their way through the crowd, and a few of his buddies laughed under their breath.
“Need a hand, Dad?” I asked when I made my way over to him.
He glared at me, but I could see the desperation in his eyes. He nodded, too embarrassed to say anything. I knelt down, pretending to fiddle with the bike for a moment before “fixing” the problem by turning off the switch.
The engine roared back to life, but by then, the damage was done.
The look of embarrassment on my dad’s face was worth every second of the work I had put into the Harley.
He handed me the keys, his jaw clenched tightly.
“It’s yours,” he said, walking away.
I smiled, knowing the Harley was mine, and so was my father’s respect, even if he couldn’t say it.
Waitress gets ‘$0’ tip on ‘$187’ bill, turns heads after making Facebook post in response
If you decide to pursue a career in the restaurant industry, especially the position of a waiter or a waitress, you should know it is followed by certain difficulties such as dealing with tough customers who are impatient and may treat you with disrespect, and not to mention how difficult it is to be on your feet all day.
However, the biggest issue is the pay which is pretty low. Because these employees are expected to be tipped, the country of U.S allows the restaurant owners to pay the workers less than the federal minimum wage.
In 21 states, servers are paid only $2.13 an hour before tips. According to a report in The Wall Street Journal, “nearly 15% of the nation’s 2.4 million waiters and waitresses live in poverty, compared with about 7% of all workers. They are more likely to need public assistance and less likely to receive paid sick leave or health benefits.”
Although they should be tipped, there are customers who are so rude that they decide to tip the waiter or waitress who served them under the standard 15% or even noting. That is exactly what happened to a waitress Taylar Cordova who was so angry at the customer that she decided to share the bill on line and rise awareness of the disrespectful way these workers are treated.
She received no tip on a bill totaling $187.43. A standard tip would have given Cordova $28.11. The post has been shared more than 12,000 times.
The caption read:
‘“This. This is the reason I work so much. This is why I cry in the shower. I STRUGGLE to put clothes on my daughter’s back and food in our bellies because of THIS. You, are the lowest of the low. Whenever you feel like it’s probably fine to not tip your server, that’s one more bill stacking up because they’re short on money. This is food for the week that our families will go without because you didn’t think it was necessary, even after asking for everything under the sun and receiving it free of charge, mind you. This is one less basic necessity my daughter needs because even TWO more dollars is too much for you.
Every decision has a consequence. Servers are paid a base pay of $2-5/hr depending on the employer, so next time you don’t want to tip, regardless of the situation prior to receiving your bill, think about how much you would have to work that week off $2-5/hr to feed your family, not just you. Could you pay your bills based on that pay alone? Could you feed your family AND yourself? Because that’s what happens when you choose to not tip. Please, please tip your servers. Even if it was the worst service you’ve ever received. A 10% tip is a big enough slap in the face, this completely tore me apart. Don’t even bother walking into a restaurant if you can’t afford to tip. There’s a McDonald’s down the street if you’re that cheap.”
But things may be looking up for servers in the future. According to Eater, “Seven states — including New York — have already increased or eliminated the lower tipped minimum wage and seven more are in the process of increasing or eliminating it altogether.” This change is necessary because, according to the National Restaurant Association, by the end of this year, 12.9 million people will work in the restaurant industry, which will account for 10% of the U.S. workforce.
Note: This article originally appeared on May 16, 2017.
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