He is not a great frequenter of the dining-room; at times
one wonders just what his activities are. Certainly it is not the
planning of meals, for the I.C.C. menu is as fixed and automatic
as if it had been taken from a stone slab in the pyramids. A poor
meal neither turns his hair white nor cuts down his income.
Frequently, especially if he is English and certainly if he has
been a ship's steward, the negro waiters seem to run his
establishment without interference. Dinner hours, for example, are
from 11 to 1. But beware the glare of the waiter at whose table
you sit down at 12:50. He slams cold rubbish at you from the
discard and snatches it away again before you have time to find
you can't eat it. You have your choice of enduring this
maltreatment or of unostentatiously slipping him a coin and a hint
to go cook you the best he can himself. For you know that as the
closing hour approaches the cooks will not have their private
plans interfered with by accepting your order. Here again is where
the fat German or the French madame is needed--with an ox-goad.
In other words the tip system invented by Pharaoh and vitiated by
quick-rich Americans rages as fiercely in government hotels on the
Zone as in any "lobster palace" bordering Broadway--worse, for
here the non-tipper has no living being to advocate his cause.
Pages:
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179