Columnist Bob Shemeligian: Columnist skips out on tab, insults waitress!!

Bob Shemeligian

Tuesday, May 20, 1997 | 11:59 a.m.

---

"HOW COULD the Globe do such a thing?" I asked a group of reporters at a casino coffee shop.

None of them had an answer. Perhaps it was because they were too busy thinking of a way to avoid paying the lunch check, or maybe because we agreed that the last remaining journalistic ethic had been breached.

We were speaking, of course, about the infamous Globe payment to a former flight attendant to entice family man and "Monday Night Football" host Frank Gifford to a motel room that the Globe had rigged with cameras and tape recorders.

"It's just too far," said Jack, a reporter turned hotel publicist, which shows that he knows about journalism and the legal bounds of prostitution.

"Jack's right," said Carl, a police reporter. "You have to draw the line somewhere."

After all, it's one thing to set up a death watch at the home of Frank Sinatra, or to tail Ellen DeGeneres' party until one of her friends takes a generous swing at the cameraman with that big heavy wallet she carries at the end of a chain.

But paying a former flight attendant to lure a star who might otherwise be handing out $100 bills to a Honduran sweatshop worker as she puts the finishing touches to a Kathie Lee designer pantsuit -- well, that goes too far.

"I wonder why the Globe would do such a thing?" I asked. "And for what, recognition on the front pages of Sunday newspapers across the country? Is it worth it?"

The other reporters said I had a point as they left the table, leaving me the check.

But I had no money, having lent everything I had that morning to television business reporter Darby Farr, who wanted to capitalize on a bit of insider trading she had picked up concerning a local company that was coming out with a line of Michael Jackson sports wear for boys.

The tab was $57, which included the three white Russians for Jack to help him get through his day at the hotel.

I decided to make a break for it, and I slipped away from the table. But as I tried to get past the hostess station, two security guards stopped me and asked if I had paid for my lunch.

Before I could explain, they had me in handcuffs in front of a Metro officer, who was reading my rights.

Then Darby stuck a mike in my face and asked if I was aware that many restaurants force the waitresses to pay the checks of people who skip out.

"What the hell does a business reporter known about being a waitress?" I asked.

Then I noticed two journalists jotting furiously in their spiral notebooks. They both quoted me, "The hell with waitresses."

"Hey, I didn't say that!" I yelled.

Then Carl was in my face.

"We just learned that your waitress is a single parent raising four kids," he said.

As I was being led away by Metro, I glared at my former friends.

"How could they sink so low," I asked, shaking my head.

"That reminds me," one of the arresting officers said. "Do you know any good defense attorneys?"