Victoria Cream

I just made $32 pesos by ordering the crappy dessert. This is how it happened:
I needed change for Cristina tomorrow morning, all I had was $212 pesos in hundreds, a ten, and unas monedas. And I need those coins for the bus if we're heading out to La Boca tomorrow afternoon to help out with ACORN. So I figure I'll grab a cup of coffee, some ice cream, something small to break this hundred so I can pay the maid. (Life's rough, huh?) I'm not hungry. I'm tired, but I figure a coffee won't hurt. Usually it perks me up before I crash. Healthy before bed, no? So I order a coffee, but that's only $6.50 and I hate to use a hundred for that. So I scan the dessert menu. They're basically all $8. The list includes cheesecake. I have to remind myself that I'm not hungry. I order balcarce, because, hey, isn't that DJ Balca's last name? I should've known it wasn't good by the way the waitress repeated my order, quizzically. Like, "You sure about that, yanqui?" Um, maybe not. But too late. My coffee comes out with two little cookies and I should've stopped there. But no, the postre comes out. It's some sort of fluffy custard-y cake with bits of maraschino cherries and some other dried fruit. Like a Christmas fruitcake with a creamier filling. And was that meringue or marshmallows along the crust? I'll pass. That stuff hurts my teeth. So I take a few bites, move it aside and read my book while the coffee cools. Jenny is always oozing about Victoria Cream, but as I have learned, we have very different taste buds. Basically she only eats white foods (potatoes, cereal, rice, cheese) with the exception being chocolate and/or dulce de leche. She makes fun of my "rabbit food." But I do love my vegetables. Anyway, I drink my coffee, read my book, get a confirmation text about working Friday night at Sugar. (Now adding waitress to my resume...) Then I ask for la cuenta and hand over my hundred. "Diecisiete con cincuenta." Total comes out to $17.50. Change should be $82.50, which would normally come back as a fifty cent piece, a two peso bill, a ten peso bill, a twenty peso bill, and a fifty. This is what my lovely waitress hands me back, which I fold into my wallet before giving it a glance: fifty cents, a $2, a $10, a $20 and a $100. She gave me back the exact bill I paid instead of the $50 I was owed. I left only a minimal tip, because I could really use those smaller bills for Cristina. Tipping is kind of "whatever you feel like" at cafes like this, and since I figured I'm never coming back, I just left her some coins. Once I realized her mistake, I realized I'm pretty sure I can never go back there again. Poor girl. But what was I supposed to do? Go back in the drizzle and hope they're still open? I figure it will get back to me karmically, now that I've agreed to a waitress gig this Friday night. Wish me luck, they told me to "be friendly and dress for tips." Hmm...