To be wronged is nothing, unless you continue to remember it. – Confucious
The origin of my grudge began two years ago at my local pub—Miss Villeray—one block from my apartment.
A couple of friends from my hometown were visiting me in Montreal. We decided to stop by Miss Villeray for a few drinks. Of course I’d been there several times before; the location is convenient, the atmosphere is laid-back, and the clientele is unpretentious.
My buddies and I were having a good time downing a few rums and shooting the breeze. I was in a great mood. I left our table to order three drinks at the bar. I ordered in French since this was, of course, French Canada. I had been living in Montreal for a year so my French was decent, but not perfect.
The bartender poured the drinks and I handed him the cash. He placed the change into my open hand and said (in a broken English accent), “You know you must leave a tip, right?”