‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ I think to myself as yet another snooty soccer mom doesn’t tip on her order. And yet, I smile, thank her and wish her a wonderful evening. I deliver dinner all across town; some people tip and others don’t. But for some reason, tonight was not my night. Seven stiffs in a row. Doesn’t matter if I carried six bags of steaming hot pizzas up three flights of stairs, or if I go the extra mile and bring all the fixings. I sigh and shuffle back to my car and ease my way back into traffic. Soon, I arrive back at the restaurant where my boss is in a mood. He’s holding the door open, with his hand gesturing for me to hustle. I park, and sprint into the store. I internally groan, I was eight minutes early! And it was me who needed to rush, pft! I swallow my frustration and move through the motions to leave on yet another delivery.