It is an eternal question: Am I my brother’s keeper?
Should we servers and hospitality folk take responsibility for the fact that our friends and family might not be the greatest tippers?
Tough question, I know. But like everything else, I feel there are ways we can weasel our opinion on others. Lets be serious, if we can convince one patron they “NEED” that $75 tomahawk ribeye, then it should be easy to tell mom and dad that 10 percent tips don’t pay the bills anymore. (Every pun intended)
When I first entered the realm of a career server, I remember going back to the mother country to visit my parents. After witnessing my dad pick up the bill and leave a mediocre tip, I had to do a bit of educating. Soon my parents realized what food costs are, and the fact that servers get paid, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Unfortunately now I created two monsters. Everywhere my parents eat they are now the “tell me your whole story” table that you can never escape from. I apologize in the future if you have the pleasure of waiting on my parents. And my God have mercy on your soul. But I do promise it be worth your time.
Reason why I bring this up is because of a recent experience with a day job colleague and his parents. This colleague is pretty new to town, and has had the pleasure of being sheltered his entire life. Actually, come to think of it, the kid is kind of softer then Scott Paper Towel. But I don’t mean to rip on the kid too hard, instead I like to rip on his parents. After a strong meal, with an even stronger bottle of wine, my tip nowhere near reflected the bill. Even if you subtract the wine cost, which I hate to admit is granted, my tip felt almost like a cold, dull spoon carving out my left eye. With a hard swallow, I bit the bullet and took care of the other 50 people in my section. It didn’t even pass my mind to say something to my coworkers at the time, or even personally to my colleague.
The next day during my day job, my colleague sat next to me. The thought about his parents completely giving me the shaft didn’t even enter my mind. It wasn’t until my colleague mentioned the fact, and his father’s reasoning that I had to do some freaking out.
The following is a close description of our dialogue and my eternal thoughts that progressed during our conversation.
Colleague: Hey, dude sorry my dad kind of stiffed you last night.
Me: No worries. Not everyone tips on wine.
Eternal Thought: Don’t worry about it kid, glad you realize the fact.
Colleague: It’s not that, you have to understand my dad is a lawyer.
Me: Oh.
Colleague: My dad gauges the tips he gives servers based on how hard they work compared to his paralegals. He figures his assistants get paid so little for such hard work, that a waiter’s job is so much easier and should be paid accordingly.
Eternal Thought: YOU HAVE TO BE F—ING WITH ME. That may be the dumbest thing I EVER heard.
Me: Well that makes no sense. Does your dad know we don’t make an hourly wage or the fact that since we don’t get paid it keeps the prices of food down?
Colleague: Really?
Eternal Thought: What I would do to drive a cold dull spoon in your eye right now!
Don’t worry, my colleague is still alive. I wouldn’t harm a fly. But, I say, “Be a realist” and recognize that fact, that your server makes his or her living on tips. Whether your server sucks, or acted beyond the call to service, act accordingly. But please don’t justify your tip based on some preconceived notion about hard work, and lifestyle. Only if everyone waited one table in there lifetime, the world would be a better place.
