A TIPPING POINT
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It happened last Sunday when daughter Alex and I were driving along Route I-84, heading home towards Maine after a family visit in New York. There’s a Greek diner with a quick on-and-off ramp in Connecticut that’s become our “gotta stop” place, as much for the delicious short stack of flakey pancakes and Eggs Benedict breakfasts as the friendliness of the staff (“Hello! Let’s get you seated and fed!”). The place positively sparkles too.
Plus, the tempting assortment of home-made pies, cheese cake, cookies and pastries arrayed on a counter next to the cash register is simply irresistible. We invariably return to the car hauling several white bakery boxes stuffed with calories-be-damned goodies.
Now about last Sunday…..It was 10 AM and we were seated in a booth, studying the six-page menu, when our waitress appeared. “I’d love a cup of coffee,” I said. “Sure,” she answered, and disappeared. A few minutes later, she reappeared with her order pad, but no coffee. “What’ll it be?” she asked. We stated our choices and I reminded her about the coffee. She nodded and left. I wasn’t looking for a tete-a-tete but maybe eye contact?
Several minutes later she returned with our food, but still no coffee. I reminded her again. She gave me a look. I looked right back. She left for another few minutes, then plopped a cup of coffee on the formica table and said, “Here.”
Perhaps she was having a bad morning or still seething from a fight with her husband who was at home sleeping. Or maybe she simply had the personality and charm of a wet potato peel. Whichever, I am frequently reminded of my dad’s words when I headed off to my first job: be on time, do your best, and do it with a smile.
Usually I give 20% to waiters and waitresses. It’s a thankless tough job. But on Sunday I told the cash register lady I was not leaving any tip. “The food was delicious but the service was nil,” I said. “My daughter and I stop here every time we’re in the area. We’ve always been treated in a friendly polite manner. But today, we received service with a snarl, not a smile.”
After getting home, I googled the word “tip” and discovered it’s actually an acronym for To Insure Promptness.
The practice apparently started here during the 1850s when wealthy Americans traveling abroad noticed Europeans leaving extra money at restaurant tables. Perhaps wanting to appear aristocratic, these travelers in turn began tipping in the United States. But then, I read, “Following the Civil War, tipping became entangled with racial and economic inequality. Employers seeking to minimize costs shifted the burden of paying workers to customers through tips. Formerly enslaved people and immigrants were hired at minimal wages, relying on tips to make ends meet.”
I’m not proud or happy that I didn’t tip that waitress. That’s not my norm. But yesterday at Staples, when I paid $55 for one black ink cartridge to go in my Epsom, the check-out guy offered a little commiseration. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Everything has gone way up in price.” And he said it with the nicest smile.
I wanted to tip him.
