The subject of gratuities, otherwise known as tipping, is as complicated a custom as you will find anywhere. Tipping is almost universal, though its fine points may differ depending on where you happen to be. If you are invited to dinner by the Gimmayahead Tribe of south New Guinea, and are not actually the main course, a small bag of dried beetles would be an appropriate gesture of appreciation. That would not, however, go over too well at the St. Regis Hotel. So you have to be both knowledgeable and flexible to be a good tipper.
Last Saturday night, I had an experience that challenged all my notions about tipping. I went out to my favorite pizza place. I always tip there, because the servers are efficient and engaging, making the simple pizza experience an abundantly enjoyable diversion from stuffy restaurants.
As usual, I placed my order at the counter, but I noticed something new. Next to the cash register was a large jar, with a note on it printed in black magic marker. It was impossible to miss. The note read, “Saying Thank You Doesn’t Mean You Are Sorry.”
By the time I reached my usual table by the window, I had already started to ruminate, something I do better than just about anybody. Obsessed with the sign on the jar, everything seemed wrong. The pizza didn’t taste as good, the service wasn’t the same and I felt like the friendly atmosphere I was so accustomed to was gone. Probably just my imagination, I thought.
My troubled look must have been obvious to Josie, the manager.
“Hey, what’s wrong? You don’t seem like your good old self tonight. Is there a problem?”
“It’s that jar,” I said morosely, “I just can’t figure it out,”
“Oh, that,” she said. “It’s just something one of the girls thought of. I wouldn’t let it bother you. Is the pie OK?”
“Yes, the pie is fine, but you have to tell me, what does that damned sign on the jar mean?”
“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure myself. I meant to ask her, but we got so busy that I forgot.”
“But Josie, what could saying thank you have to do with being sorry? Is it meant as some kind of guilt trip for people who don’t tip?”
“I hope not. I wouldn’t want that here. Say, can you excuse me for a minute?”
I had a feeling that even Josie was now bothered by that jar. They had never had a tip jar before, anyway, which was good. Things were personal in an easygoing way at this place, and it occurred to me that whoever this girl was, she had taken some of the atmosphere that made the place special and trashed it with that jar. Little things like that made a difference.
Josie returned. “I asked her. She said she meant it to be a cute way of letting people know that was now where the tips went. Don’t worry about it.”
I tried to put on a happy face. What the heck, it was no big deal. But I hate “cute.” To me, “cute” is a cheap substitute for beauty, and I do not mean that in a physical sense. In this case, beauty would have been a sign that said, “It’s OK if you’re short tonight. We will always appreciate your business here, no matter what.” Of course, I always take things to the extreme, so I tried to imagine what “ultra beauty” might look like. The sign might have an extra sentence. “And if you’re down and out, take a few bucks. We won’t mind.” Of course, that is absurd, but if I ran the place, I’d probably give it a try. I guess my take on human nature is a bit unrealistic. It is probably a lucky thing I am not running the place.
I finished my pizza and left $3 on the table for Jennifer, a college kid who was working her way through school. Thinking about that, having done it myself, I went back and left another dollar. I felt good, as I always do when I know I have done something kind for someone else.
On the way out, I noticed that the jar was gone. Josie grabbed me by the arm and told me she pulled it. She had thought about it and had come to the same conclusions I had. I started to pull a couple of dollars out of my pocket for her, but she would not let me.
“I would never take a tip from you. Did you know you are one of my favorite customers? We all love your sense of humor and your easy way.”
I was stunned. I had no idea I had that effect on people, and I never imagined that my bad jokes had that much impact. It was bitter cold outside, but I felt warm inside. Sometimes, when you least expect it, someone will do or say something that changes everything. It really is the little things that matter.
I had completely forgotten about that tip jar, but not about Josie. She was uniquely beautiful in her ability to make people feel good. If I did own that pizza place, I would triple her salary.