Keeping up with the JaMarcuses

Backtrack: I work at a restaurant. In between siphoning dead orders, smoking in the beer fridge, and stuffing my trunk with Styrofoam cups, I actually serve tables.

Several weeks ago, when the Raiders played the Jets, I was working at my restaurant and didn't have access to the game (I live in Miami). All day I was scrambling around, trying to find a TV that had ESPN on, hoping that I'd catch the score on the bottom crawl. No luck.

Finally, near closing time, an elder lady came in with a younger woman. They sat at my table, and asked if I knew what the score in the Dolphins/Saints game had been.

Me: "I don't know, ma'am, but I know the Dolphins lost."

At which point she pulls out her iPhone and starts looking up the game highlights.

Me: "Hey, do you think you can check the score in the Raiders/Jets game for me?"

Her: "Sure. Are you a Raiders fan."

Me: "Yes ma'am. Till the day I die."

Then the younger one looks over and says, "So, what do you think about JaMarcus Russell?"

Now, let me explain something about myself: I revel in seedy behavior, but I'm usually very diplomatic about things like this. Asking me what I think about JaMarcus Russell, however, is like asking a Trojan his opinion on wooden equines.

Me: "Well, to be perfectly honest, he sucks. Plain and simple. No heart, no passion, no will to win."

Her: "Well, I'll be sure to tell him you said so. I'm his cousin."

The kicker? She was the only table of the day to leave a 20% tip, which leads me to believe that insults, not good service, is the way to make it in the restaurant biz.

On a follow up, one of my coworkers asked me if I thought she'd really pass along the message. My reply? "If she did, she'd be the only one in the family who could pass anything."