I had just come on to my night shift, taking over for the departing day bartender. We had discussed where each customer was in his or her dining or drinking experience, what we were running low on, the daily specials and all the other minutiae that goes on in the restaurant business every day around 4 p.m.

"I'm going to transfer that couple to you," he said, pointing out a dark-haired woman and her darker-haired friend.

"I think they are finished; they haven't ordered anything in a while, but I can't seem to get their attention."

I shrugged my acknowledgment while looking at their bill: two appetizers, two glasses of wine, a split salad and a dessert. It did appear that they were finishing up.

In the bar/restaurant business most establishments have protocols about transferring checks. Usually there is a percentage involved, so that both parties are taken care of financially. However, customers should be aware that if they mean to give one server a 20 percent tip but they put it on the bill of the new, transferring server, only a percentage of that will go to the original server (usually around 10 percent). If you really want the server who waited on you to get the maximum benefit of your generosity, you have to give it to him either by not transferring your bill or by giving him cash directly.

I walked down the bar, past that couple engrossed in conversation, straightened out a pile of cocktail napkins, refilled an empty water glass; it was shaping up to

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be just another day when a shrill voice boomed behind me.

"Excuse me!" said the fairer half of the engrossed couple in a tone that contradicted the gentile nature of the statement. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You moved my coaster."

"I did?"

"You did."

I didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"Yes, you did."

"Well, I'm really sorry. "Would you like me to move it back?" I said looking around for the offending coaster.

"No."

"OK."

"You can go now," she said with a wave of her hand.

For the next 20 minutes or so I served drinks and food, laughed it up with a couple of regulars and generally tried to have a good time.

I checked on Miss Shrill several times but each time I approached her, she and her companion completely ignored me and my questions.

"Would you care for another glass of wine?" elicited no response.

"Should I refill your water?" didn't even warrant a look.

Finally while I was mid-special spiel to a newly arrived couple, another shrill "Excuse me!" pierced the air.

"Can we get our check, please?" she said with each word rising an octave.

After they left, I noticed that the gratuity on their bill was about 8 percent, which meant that with the transfer rate (10 percent) it actually cost me - out of my pocket - about $5 to wait on them.

The best part came about a week letter when my boss pulled me into the office to talk to me about a complaint letter. She didn't quite understand the gist of the complaint. It seemed that a customer was greatly put off by the fact that her coaster had been moved. There didn't seem to be any tangible service issue, no food was overcooked, no drink had been forgotten, she hadn't been ignored, but by virtue of a coaster being moved, her experience had been irrevocably marred. The customer went on to suggest that she was treated "less fairly than everyone else". Nobody else's coaster had been moved, just hers, which had evidently caused her great personal distress.

My boss looked at me and I looked at her. For the second time in a week I didn't know what to say. Eventually I promised never to move another person's coaster and headed out for my shift. But as I did, I remembered the words of the writer Albert Camus: "We all carry within us our places of exile, our crimes, our ravages. Our task is not to unleash them on the world," which after being unleashed upon, I thought seemed quite appropriate.

Camus added that we should try to transform those ravages in ourselves and in others.

I might mention it to the dark-haired lady - if I should ever see her again. But, I'll have to get her attention first.

Perhaps I'll simply move her coaster.

Jeff Burkhart is an award-winning bartender at a Marin bar/restaurant and an author. His columns appear weekly in Here. Contact him at jeffb@thebarflyonline.com.