TIpping: Extortion for Dummies

I dropped into a coffee house the other day to get a coffee and a chocolate-chip muffin, only to discover that I had no cash and that they did not accept credit or debit cards. Upon inquiry, the dirty indie kid behind the counter (who was wearing an ever-so-ironic "World's Greatest Grandma" tee) actually told me, with a straight face and a sneer in his voice, that "we don't take credit cards because people don't get change and then they don't tip." He said this as though it should be perfectly clear to me that I should drop a dollar in his dusty mayonnaise jar because he turned around and pulled a brewed coffee into a cup for me. When I didn't leave a tip, he rolled his eyes, as though it was apparent that leaving room for milk is a skilled task that requires a keen eye and excellent fine motor control.

Here is an insight I have for coffee house employees who expect tips: Making coffee is your job. That is what you get paid at least minimum wage for. I don't care if you make me a triple two-percent soy grande mocha with a puff of whipped cream the size of a volleyball--that is what you get paid for. I do give tips for special requests, however, like if in addition to my coffee I want a back massage. I also tip employees for whom the IRS automatically assumes tips. I do not tip people who make at least minimum wage for simply doing their job, nor do I tip people who flatly tell me that they want me to pay with cash so that I will drop my change into their "college fund" jar. If you believe that the tips you get on a coffee house shift will actually serve as tuition, you are either very stupid or plan to attend the College of Alcoholism, where a buck fifty will get you an A in Wild Irish Rose. I know this because I live next door to the bodega that serves as the student union for the COA.

Because I do not attend the College of Alcoholism, I sometimes go for a drink at a bar, which presents yet another situation in which employees expect tips for simply doing their job. At a Chi-Cha--I mean, chi-chi--Lounge on U Street in D.C. (which shall not be named), a bartender actually pointed at a handwritten "TIP YOUR BARTENDER" sign after I plunked down four dollars for a Miller Lite in a bottle but did not offer a dollar for a tip. Getting me a Miller Lite in a bottle did not even require that he swivel at the hips or use a bottle opener. He simply reached down slightly and put my beer on the bar, which he didn't even open because it had a twist-off cap. For the rest of the night, he refused to serve me, what with my extravagant requests and excessive thrift. Worse, I flouted the authority of whatever person had brandished a Sharpie earlier in the evening and diligently penned the Capitalist Manifesto scotch-taped over the premium liquors.

I also do not tip for poor service or a snarky attitude. At a "Bar Above" an Ethiopian restaurant on the corner of 45th and Locust in Philly (which shall not be named), I asked the bartender if he could put a little less ice in my drink, as the place was sweltering and I didn't want my drink to get watery. He sneered, "Nice try, but you're not getting more vodka." When I explained that my request was based on the simple physical interactions between ice and heat and not a desire for copious amounts of rail liqour, he glared at me and said, "That's not the way I make this drink." I appreciated his feedback, as I had not been aware that a vodka-cranberry was a work of art or that it involved complicated chemistry. Appropriately chagrined at my faux pas but irritated at the manner in which he communicated his artistic license, I refused to tip him. Worse than the way in which he stared at me as I went to my table was my friend's insistence that I was being "all salty" for not tipping him. I was not, in any fashion, being salty. Salt melts ice, and it was hot in there. That was the whole point.

I similarly did not tip a bartender at a Lounge on 18th Street in D.C. (which shall not be named) because when I asked for a drink containing Grand Marnier, he rolled his eyes in exasperation and mockingly replied, "Grand Mar-nee-AY? How about some Grand Mar-nee-ER?" He clearly was not using his tips to attend even the College of Alcoholism. The course requirements of the COA specifically state that each student must take at least two semesters of Foreign Drink Names. Besides learning the correct pronunciation of Grand Marnier, they must also learn how to pass the Courvoisier and pour a Clos du Bois. Although two semesters seems like a lot, it only feels like one to the students, because of the blackouts. And they can always pass out by. . .passing out. At any rate, I got him back for his misguided snobbishness by giving him a "tip" that he should procure a Kleenex. Nothing brings someone down off their high horse faster than intimating that they have something hanging out of their nose. Especially if they're acting snotty. Ha ha.

The good thing about tipping is that it lessens the probability of pure Class Warfare. People tip their garbage man, the bellhop, their gardener, or their hairstylist, but they do not tip their surgeons, their psychologists, or their lawyers. The people who do receive gratuities tend to be lower in the class system, both socially and financially. Perhaps this is why it is outwardly generous to give a little extra to the dog-walker at Christmas. But the truth is, many people who use services for which tips are expected are utterly terrified, and they are on to something. They are throwing dough at the "little people" to keep their class-related anger at bay. These are people who, if we do not give them extra money, could really fuck with us. The garbage man could strew our trash all over the place, the gardener could invite in locusts, and the hairstylist could give us a bad hair day for the next six months. The dog-walker could arrange for little Buttercup to have worms. Nobody with a new white carpet wants a canine with the scoots.

Because tipping is so obviously class-based, there is a new euphemism for gratuities that is slowly emerging from the upper crust. After all, it is gauche to emphasize the differences between the upper and lower classes, which is why rich people do things like say they went to college "in Boston" rather than at Harvard or live "near West L.A." instead of in Bel Air. Because of this denial of class awareness, tipping is now considered to be "good patronage." Good patronage used to mean that one used one's indoor voice and did not smash the merchandise. By this definition, most small children are, deservingly, considered to be bad patrons. However, now it turns out that small children are bad patrons because in general, they do not tip. In this decade, "good patronage" means giving away one's money for services rendered that have already been paid for. As I have said before, I am bad with numbers, but this makes less sense than the uvula.

Perhaps you disagree with my sentiments on tipping. Perhaps you are a shampoo girl trying to get by on minimum wage or a bartender who has to deal with drunk people all night. Or maybe you believe that tips create good karma and a more pleasant universe. If you wish to debate this issue further, you are welcome to come to my house and you can share your thoughts. But be sure to bring some singles: I'm serving coffee. Tip jar's on your left.