Bring the Tip. Leave a Funny.

The art of tipping is one of those issues out there in the world that everyone has an opinion on. It’s like economics, religions, politics, and geometry. I’ve never worked a job in which I might receive a tip (passer-bys don’t show you love for painting warehouses as a teen), so I hope that some of you with ‘tipped’ experience will chime in on this very important issue. Just imagine if you needed to tip your blogger. Comments that are 15-20% the length of the post?

You would all hate me on days I do running diaries.

Like I said above, tipping is an art, insomuch as it cannot and is not a science. Despite that cool feature on your cell phone or reference card in your wallet, there’s no exact way to know exactly how much to tip. Most people have adopted percentage ranges that they aim for, using a sliding scale on the quality of service received. That’s the art in it. The tipping method of compensation continues to thrive because it adds a performance-based measure to how much the employee brings home at the end of the day. Waiters, barbers, luggage handlers, delivery dudes, movers, cabbies, and many others use this as motivation.

Clearly, we need to apply the tip system to filmmakers. RV? Really, guys? That’s the best you could do?

Anyways, today’s blog is not to discuss who deserves a tip, or how much each of our readers drop on the table on their way out, but rather with a specific case study that I was part of yesterday. All suggestion and comments are more than welcome.

Yesterday afternoon, I met jolly old Slacker Claus himself, Chris Nordberg, for lunch just north of Richmond. Katie accompanied me down I-95, as we decided this was the best way to transfer camping equipment to his car for a post-graduate trip later this May. (The airlines frown on carrying tanks of propane and metal tent spikes in your carry-on, you see.) Arriving in Ashland, we hit up the local Chili’s for a nice relaxing lunch (and welcome break from final projects). Herein lies the question…

What do you tip when your waitress just frightens the hell out of you?

Our waitress was a nice woman, probably late twenties, with a hint of a southern accent, and a name that for the life of me, I can’t remember. Ok, then. We’ll call her Crazelda. (Plus, this is a helpful blogger’s trick if one of your subjects decides to get their ‘Google’ on.) So Crazelda had enough enthusiasm to blow up the balloons in the Macy’s Parade. Katie had the convenient detour to the ladies’ room upon on arrival that allowed her to avoid the following introduction.

“Hi there! Welcome to Chili’s!!! Can I start you off with something to drink? Do you like strawberry lemonade? On a hot day, that stuff is just to die for! It’s really sweet, but not too sweet, you know? Now we serve Pepsi products, if that’s alight! (Nordberg orders Mt.Dew here) Ok, that’s a great choice on your part! And you sir? (I order root beer) That’s wonderful news! You know I was just thinking the other day that the kids these days just don’t love root beer anymore. I don’t know why that is. That’s super exciting!

What just happened here?

Needless to say, this level of service was maintained completely throughout the meal. At one point, Crazelda rushed to her table to say, “Suffrin’ succotash, aren’t ya?” The problem was that this was clearly a question. And none of us quite knew how to respond.

So bring the art of tipping back into this – how would you handle such a situation?