“Dining and dashing at my restaurant is bad for both your karma and your pride, as two examples prove. Take the drunk couple who sat at the counter and ordered buffalo wings while waiting for a cab. After spilling a whole cup of half and half on herself, the booty-short-clad girl spots the cab and the guy yells “fuck you” as they stumble out, without paying, before the food is even ready. No more than five feet out the door, the girl’s stiletto gives out. She goes down—hard—and her boyfriend is so sloshed himself that when he tries to help her up, he eats it, too, and the cab driver ends up rushing out to throw them both in the cab (he later told the cops he took them to a motel). Specimen two: a local drunk who, after finishing his meal, decides to take advantage of a large group of diners filing out by making a non-paying escape behind them. No sooner is he free than he trips over an invisible karma bump and falls down the three main steps leading to the front door. He gets up, clutches his forehead, which is oozing blood, and calls his girlfriend—who agrees to take him to the hospital only after berating him in front of everybody. As they say, karma’s a bitch.”

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