Tipping

I love to talk about tipping etiquette. Here’s the way I look at it—if you have the means, you should be tipping far above and beyond what you believe is warranted for exceptional service. Someone who is waiting tables is poor, and you are rich. Karma dictates that you give an extra five or ten bucks to make their life a little easier. It’s five or ten bucks. I’ll tell you what—if someday you go bankrupt on account of not having five bucks, you can blame me.

But some people are self-centered and don’t really believe in karma, so for those people, I will put this in real, practical terms that they can understand. If you tip people more, they will think you’re a swell guy. All it costs to be a swell guy is five bucks. That’s the best bargain in the world. Don’t you want people to be happy to see you, instead of sad to see you? Now, I suppose if you are traveling and in a restaurant, somewhere in Seattle or something, and you are certain you will never go back to that restaurant ever again, then you don’t care. But you still care, because it's shitty karma to stiff people, which gets us back to the first paragraph. But if there is a local place that you go to all the time, you had better be tipping 30% at a minimum. Otherwise, when you walk in, they will say, here comes the cheap fuck.

In general, service is very, very good in the Myrtle Beach area. I drink gross amounts of iced tea with meals, so the server is filling up my iced tea 4-5 times during dinner. They are very attentive. Or, here’s a thought—maybe they are attentive because they know they are getting an outstanding tip. And it’s not about the money—it’s about the gesture. Five bucks doesn’t make a difference in anybody’s life—but if you are nice to people, they will be nice to you back. I have given 50% tips. I have given 100% tips. Had lunch today, came out to $17, threw down a twenty and a five and left. Better than waiting another 10 minutes for the waitress to make change so I can get two dollars back—that’s not a very good use of my time. Remember, don’t sweat the small stuff—everything is small stuff.

There are different cultural attitudes towards tipping. In Connecticut, people will get out the tip calculator to give you exactly 18% because you are not getting a penny more than you deserve. In Myrtle Beach, the redneck in a tank top on vacation with his four sugar-bombed, hyperactive kids will take the four ones out of his pocket on a $70 check and call it a day. In Miami, they just grat you 20%, and half the time people forget and leave another tip on top of that (I’ve done this). New York City generally has good tippers—say what you want about bankers and hedge fund guys, but they typically have pretty good attitudes towards money.

What if the service is terrible? That happens, sometimes. In those cases, I tip 20%, which I view as kind of a floor on wages for wait staff. I wouldn’t dream of leaving less than that. I’m pretty easygoing about service, though, but my one pet peeve is what I want to leave and get in the car and Kayla forgets to bring the check, leaving me sitting there, like an impatient chump. And yes, if you name your daughter Kayla, she will grow up to be a waitress in Myrtle Beach. They are all named Kayla.

I tip valets $10, if I’m driving my POS Toyota. If I am driving my Corvette, I tip $20—before and after.  You are entrusting a $50,000 piece of machinery to some college flunky in the hopes that it doesn’t come back with any scratches or dents. $3 isn’t going to cut it. I especially appreciate the hustle of valets. I’ve stayed at the Four Seasons in Atlanta a few times, and those guys sprint to go get your car when you give them the ticket. But to this day, I’m a little sniffy about giving my bags to the porter—I’m an able-bodied guy, ex-military, with blue collar sensibilities—I can carry my own fucking bags. I went to a fancy hotel in Miami Beach last week—no choice, I had to surrender my bags. The porter got $9 out of me. I wasn’t pissed about the money, it’s just a stupid system, which results in me waiting longer for my stuff, and surrendering my backpack with my laptop, which literally has my entire life in it. Maybe I’ll feel differently when I’m a codger and walking with a cane.

I have opinions on tip jars. Lots of times, someone will walk into a Dunkin’ Donuts, buy a coffee for $4.38, pay with a five, and drop 62 cents into the tip jar. They do this every day, and over the course of two weeks, they have put $6.20 into the tip jar. I have a suggestion. Put nothing in the tip jar, and then once a month, put a twenty in the tip jar. You’ll see an attitude adjustment in a hurry. I’ve been going to the same Dunkin Donuts for years, and for years, I did this, dropping twenties in the tip jar, and I always got big smiles and nice chats out of the cashier. It works out to be about the same amount of money, but it’s a huge psychological difference, between a small, frequent reward, and a large infrequent (and random) reward. I’m sure B.F. Skinner did a study on this. Anyway, for the last two years, the cashier at Dunkin has been a grumpy old lady, and the $20 bills didn’t seem to produce a change in demeanor, so I stopped doing it.

Which brings me to Starbucks. For years, Starbucks had a cash tip jar—now, you pay with a credit card, and there are suggested tips—15, 20, and 25%. I have feelings about this—I’ll pay a 20% tip for someone who spends 45 minutes waiting on my table, but for pouring a cup of coffee and sliding it across the counter? I disapprove. This is part of a larger trend where every store has these credit card kiosk-things, and everyone expects a tip. As much as I hate it, I usually leave a tip, under the philosophy that you should not sweat the small stuff, and everything is small stuff.

I got married when I was 23, and I was unaware that you were supposed to tip the wedding DJ. I stiffed the guy. Such a heel I am. Of course, my wife wasn’t a big fan of the music, because he played the Humpty Dance. Too lowbrow. I fucking love the Humpty Dance, and I’ll eat up all your crackers and your licorice. But also, I gave the dude a list of music ahead of time, and he played none of it and went rogue. Anyway, just as a word of warning to all the fiancés and fiancées out there—the bride will never be happy with the music. My advice is to let the bride pick the DJ, because then she’ll be responsible for the decision. For the record, being a wedding DJ is the worst job in the world, jukeboxing the Chicken Dance and the Macarena, dealing with an avalanche of requests and a pissed-off female, so you had better tip these guys—big.

I am a big fan of random acts of kindness. Lunch comes out to $36, drop down a hunge, and walk out. It will be fun the next time you see that person, but it’s fun even if you don’t. You can walk out knowing that you made someone’s day. Which is really what it’s all about, right? Spreading happiness wherever you go, as opposed to spreading misery wherever you go. Think of it this way—if you save $5 on a tip and you go out to eat twice a week, that’s $520 a year. Do that for 40 years, and that’s $20,000. So when you retire, you can have an extra 20 grand and be a miserable SOB, or you can be a nice person. That’s all it costs you to be a nice person over an entire lifetime--$20,000. I’m sure there are some people reading this who make that in a week.

Also, make sure you tip extra at Hooters. Not because you’re trying to get a date, but because the whole thing is kind of demeaning.