Black Waitress Serves Michael Jordan, Then He Gives Her A Note. Reading It, She Bursts Into Tears!

Chenise Thompson woke before dawn to the shrill buzz of her alarm. She rubbed tired eyes, mindful not to wake her six-year-old daughter, Maya, in the next room. Slipping out of bed, she felt the familiar weight of her late husband’s wedding band on a chain around her neck. James had been gone for three years now—lost in military service—but his memory stayed with her in the smallest of details: the dog tags in her dresser drawer, the basketball jersey Maya insisted on wearing around the house, and the photograph of him smiling in uniform on her nightstand.

In the bathroom’s dim light, she checked her reflection. She wore her dark hair in neat braids to keep things simple for her job as a waitress at The Sterling Room, one of Chicago’s upscale eateries. It wasn’t the career she’d dreamed of, but it paid more than her old retail gig, and every cent counted. Medical bills for Maya’s asthma treatments piled up at home, each statement a reminder of how much more she needed to earn.

By 5:30 a.m., she was dressed in her crisp black-and-white uniform, gently rousing Maya for the day. “Wake up, sweet pea,” she whispered, stroking her daughter’s cheek. Maya stirred, her eyes blinking open beneath a wild puff of curls.

“Mommy, can I wear Daddy’s Bulls jersey today?” she asked, voice still husky from sleep.

Chenise’s gaze fell on the tattered red-and-black jersey draped over Maya’s chair. Maya loved it because it reminded her of James, who’d cherished every Bulls game he could watch. “How about we fold it nicely and bring it with us?” Chenise suggested. “You can show Grandma after school.”

Maya nodded reluctantly, rubbing her eyes. They lived in a tiny, drafty apartment on Chicago’s South Side—close enough for Chenise’s morning commute to be a single bus ride, but far from the glitz and glamour of The Sterling Room’s neighborhood.

They arrived at Grandma’s place just as the sun began to rise. Maya hopped off the bus with her backpack in hand, the old Bulls jersey carefully folded inside. Chenise bent to kiss her forehead. “Be good. Use your inhaler if your chest feels tight. I’ll pick you up after my shift.”

“Will you read me a story tonight, Mommy?” Maya asked.

Chenise ruffled her curls. “Of course, baby.”

She watched her daughter disappear into the warmth of her grandmother’s house, then hopped back onto the bus toward the heart of Chicago. She used the ride to steel herself for another long day. The memory of James—his laughter, his unwavering optimism—flickered in her mind. Keep believing, keep going, she reminded herself.

At The Sterling Room, Chenise stepped through the employee entrance, apron folded neatly under her arm. The floor-to-ceiling windows gleamed, silverware polished to a shine. By 7:00 a.m., the restaurant buzzed with the breakfast crowd—lawyers with expensive briefcases, well-dressed couples sipping cappuccinos, and business executives discussing deals over fresh croissants.

“Morning, Chenise,” her coworker Rita greeted, balancing a tray of coffee mugs. “You’re on tables eight through fourteen today.”

Chenise nodded, pocketing her order pad. She had worked here for two years, climbing from the cramped back section to a more prestigious area of the dining room. A few of her regulars waved her over with friendly smiles. One was Mr. Harrison, a retiree who often asked after Maya’s health.

“How’s your daughter doing?” he inquired softly as she refilled his coffee.

“She’s doing better, sir. Thank you,” Chenise answered. “The new inhaler helps a lot.”

She didn’t mention how expensive each refill was or that the insurance barely covered it. She simply smiled and moved on to her next table—an unspoken grace she’d mastered over countless shifts.

Around midmorning, the manager, Mr. Walsh, called her aside. “We’ve got a VIP coming in for an early lunch, and I want you on it,” he said. “It’s someone…special.”

Rumors about celebrities popped up almost weekly here, but Chenise never paid much mind. She did her job, treated every guest with warmth, and tried not to let her personal worries seep into her service.

Still, when the doors swung open at 11:30 a.m., the hush that fell over the staff told Chenise this VIP was different. She glimpsed a tall figure in casual clothes, flanked by a small entourage. In an instant, she recognized him: Michael Jordan.

It felt surreal. She’d watched Jordan’s games with James on their tiny TV, the volume turned low so Maya could sleep. James idolized him—not just as a player, but as a man who gave back to his community. Chenise’s heart fluttered at the memory, but she pushed it down, stepping forward to greet the new arrivals with professional composure.

“Welcome to The Sterling Room.” Her voice was calm, though her pulse raced. “How may I help you gentlemen today?”

Jordan smiled, nodding graciously. “Good afternoon. Table for four, please.”

Mr. Walsh guided them to Chenise’s section. The table felt suddenly smaller under Jordan’s presence. Chenise handed out menus, introducing the day’s specials.

“I’ll have water for now,” Jordan said, resting his elbows on the table. “We might need a minute to decide.”

She made her way to the back to retrieve glasses, exhaling to steady herself. Rita cornered her, eyes wide. “Is it really him?” she whispered. “Michael Jordan?”

Chenise managed a smile. “Sure is. But he’s just another customer, so let’s treat him right.”

Inside, though, her nerves crackled. She took the water back, placing each glass carefully in front of Jordan and his companions.

He scanned the menu, then looked up at her. “What do you recommend?”

Her heart thumped. “Our ribeye is popular, but the blackened salmon is my favorite. It’s got the perfect seasoning, sir.”

Jordan’s gaze flickered with amusement. “I’ll trust you. Salmon it is.”

The others followed suit, placing orders for steak and roast chicken. Chenise jotted everything down, thanked them, and hurried to the kitchen. She felt Jordan’s eyes follow her, a gentle curiosity in his expression.

As lunch progressed, she kept his table running smoothly: refilling drinks, bringing extra napkins, clearing empty plates with swift efficiency. The group discussed business matters in low tones, but occasionally Jordan’s attention drifted to watch her assisting other tables. She helped an elderly woman to her seat, made a little boy laugh by pretending to dribble his spoon like a basketball, and showed the new waitress how to balance trays without spilling drinks.

When it was time for the check, Jordan offered a friendly nod. “Thank you for the excellent service, Ms.…”

“Thompson,” she supplied. “Chenise Thompson.”

He scribbled something on a small sheet of paper and tucked it into the check holder, along with his credit card. “Before you run the transaction, could you read what I wrote?”

Her cheeks heated. “Of course, sir.”

But duty called. Another table beckoned for more water, and a second demanded the dessert menu. By the time she finished those tasks, Jordan and his companions had already left. She saw no sign of them except the black check holder on the table.

Chenise retrieved it, noticing the unusual thickness of folded paper inside. She brought it to the register, preparing to process the card. When she finally lifted the note, a lump formed in her throat:

Ms. Thompson,
I couldn’t help overhearing you mention your daughter’s medical bills. I grew up watching my parents sacrifice everything to support my dreams. As someone who’s known both hardship and success, I want to lighten your load.
Use this check for whatever you and Maya need—bills, school, or just some joy. You reminded me that kindness doesn’t cost a thing, but it changes lives. Keep doing what you do, and never stop believing in your dreams.
With respect and gratitude,
Michael Jordan

Her eyes teared up as she processed the credit card. Then she saw the check he’d left behind—an amount that made her knees buckle. It was more than she could make in half a year of tips. She clapped a hand over her mouth, tears slipping free.

Chenise could hardly breathe. In a single gesture, Michael Jordan had given her hope she feared was gone: a chance to pay off Maya’s overdue medical bills and maybe save some for a long-postponed nursing program.

Rita rushed over, concern etched on her face. “Girl, what happened?”

Chenise held out the note, tears streaming down her cheeks. Rita’s eyes widened as she read. “Oh my goodness…this is incredible!”

Breathing unsteadily, Chenise clutched James’s ring beneath her uniform. She whispered, “He said to never stop believing. James used to say that, too.”

She thought of Maya’s sweet face, the inhalers lined up on the kitchen counter, the hospital bills stacked on the table. All at once, the burden lifted. Closing her eyes, she pictured James smiling, wearing that old Bulls jersey, cheering her on from a place she couldn’t see.

In the quiet hum of the dining room, amid the clink of silverware and murmured conversations, Chenise found herself sobbing tears of gratitude. For once, she didn’t rush to hide her emotions. This note—this gift—was a miracle she wanted to feel fully.

When her shift ended, she walked outside into the crisp Chicago air, tucking the precious note into her purse. She couldn’t wait to pick up Maya, to press the jersey into her daughter’s hands and say, “Guess who came to Mommy’s restaurant today?”

And for the first time in months, she allowed herself to dream of a brighter future, echoing the words that still rang in her mind: Never stop believing.

TIL Michael Jordan once tipped a waitress a $5 chip for bringing him a drink. Wayne Gretzky stopped the waitress, removed the $5 chip, grabbed one of the many $100 chips on Jordan’s side of the table, and gave it to her. Then he said, “That’s how we tip in Las Vegas, Michael.”

I live near Atlantic City, so I know a lot of people who work in the casino industry. They all have hilarious stories about celebrities and their out-on-the-town exploits, usually they involve some B-list celeb doing something dumb in a drunken stupor. These stories can be funny or interesting, but they’re never anything groundbreaking.

Things always step up when you hit America’s real gaming mecca, though. Rich Strafella, a VP and long-time gaming exec at the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas, was recently asked by UrbanDaddy.com to share his favorite celebrity story.

“I remember a night when Wayne Gretzky insulted Michael Jordan at the table. It was a private salon game. Michael had ordered a drink from the cocktail waitress, and he gave her a five-dollar chip. Wayne took it off the cocktail waitress’s tray, gave it back to Michael, grabbed a hundred-dollar chip from Michael’s stack and put it on the cocktail waitress’s tray. Then he said, “That’s how we tip in Las Vegas, Michael.”

“That’s how we tip in Las Vegas, Michael”: When Wayne Gretzky embarrassed his Airness for being cheap at a Las Vegas casino

NBA icon Michael Jordon once tipped a waitress $5 for his drink but Ice Hockey superstar Wayne Gretzky took it and replaced it with $100!

Michael Jordan was absolutely phenomenal during his time in the NBA, establishing himself as arguably the greatest player of all time. MJ was a generational player and retired with the NBA’s highest-scoring average of 30.1ppg and 6 championships under his name.

However, many people forget he was also the Defensive Player of the Year in 1987-88. His impeccable shooting, handling of the ball, phenomenal moves, and his defensive power decided the outcome of games.

Meanwhile, Wayne Gretzky was equally dominant on the ice. During his 20 years in the NHL, Gretzky potted 894 goals and 2857 assists. Unsurprisingly, he also boasts of a stacked resume, claiming four Stanley Cups, nine Hart Trophies, and 10 Art Ross Trophies.

The 6x NBA champion was an eager golfer as well as a frequent gambler. As a result, he used to visit Las Vegas often. From all the various Jordan stories we’ve heard over the years, MJ comes out on top almost always. However, on one such visit to Vegas, Jordan was shown up by Ice Hockey legend Wayne Gretzky.

Michael Jordan gets humbled by Wayne Gretzky in Las Vegas for his poor tipping habits

MJ’s determination alone was extremely dangerous. However, this combined with his other-worldly talent was a recipe for disaster for every team in the league.

The incident in question apparently took place in Hard Rock Hotel Casino in Las Vegas, where both sports stars were gambling together.

Jordan and Gretzky were gambling when a waitress brought them their drinks. MJ gave her a $5 chip as a tip, until Gretzky stopped her, took that chip from her, and replaced it with a $100 chip. He then turned to Michael Jordan and told him that is the proper amount to tip someone in Vegas.

The VP of the hotel who was present there recalls –

“I remember a night when Wayne Gretzky insulted Michael Jordan at the table. It was a private salon game. Michael had ordered a drink from the cocktail waitress, and he gave her a five-dollar chip.

Wayne took it off the cocktail waitress’ tray, gave it back to Michael, grabbed a hundred-dollar chip from Michael’s stack, and put it on the cocktail waitress’ tray. Then he said, “That’s how we tip in Las Vegas, Michael.”

Much of Jordan’s success is a result of his determination and desire to win. So, when Wayne Gretzky humbled him at a Las Vegas casino, Jordan may have not felt great.