[Footnote 13: The Tipping Point]
[13] This seems like as good a time as any to talk about tipping. I like to think of myself as torn between two diametrically dichotomous points of view on the whole subject of tipping.
On one side is Mr. Principle [*], the deeply righteous and discerning tipper, with an acute and finely honed sense of superlative service. Each and every tip is painstakingly calculated according to a series of discrete factors including: attentiveness, courteousness, promptness, preparedness, generosity, cleanliness, attractiveness, ability to flirt without being obvious or weird, ability to recommend drinks and dishes that will be to my liking, ability to fulfill my most quirky and extemporaneous whims, ability to anticipate even my most subtle and inexpressible needs, willingness to go "above and beyond," and whether they remind me of somebody else I know even if I can't quite place it. And because this reward is the product of my thoroughly thoughtful evaluation system, the actual size of the tip - though almost assuredly well within the range of common standards - is irrelevant; to get a tip at all from Mr. Principle is a prize in and of itself.
The underlying theory at work here is that lofty expectations will compel servers and the like to try and meet those expectations. Tom the Waiter will think to himself, "This tip is insufficient. I would like to increase my tips. I will have to step up my game." With the help of instinctual ambition and self-improvement, and at a minimal cost to me, excellence is encouraged and achieved.
On the other side is Mr. Prince, lavishly and indiscriminately dispensing cash from one end of the resort to the other, buying attention and favor from the “help” - waiters, bartenders, baristas, hosts, hostesses, maitre’ds, busboys, bellboys, cabana boys, towel dudes, doormen, chambermaids, valets, concierges, lei ladies, chauffeurs, cab drivers, bus drivers, airline pilots, flight attendants, tour guides, salesgirls, men’s room attendants, bystanders, passersby and members of the clergy - even those who are dismissive or disinterested, establishing the notion that I am a real Big Shot with a backside that requires a great deal of attention and affection, not only because my cavalier attitude about money in relatively small denominations identifies me as one of the hotel's premier V.I.P.s but also because of the unspoken assumption that There's Plenty More Where That Came From If You Play Your Cards Right, Believe You Me.
The operative theory here is that the service employees will "follow the money" and bestow special attention, favors, etc. on the generous tipper in the hopes of obtaining another outrageously inappropriate tip. Tom the Waiter will think to himself, "Maybe if I refill his Diet Coke and offer him some complimentary pineapple slices, he'll give me another ten dollars, and I can just go on ignoring that jackass who gave me a $1.38 tip along with this itemized list of my ranking on various performance scales." Owing to man's naturally avaricious nature and the "invisible hand" of pure capitalism, my comfort is assured. This approach also provides the gently appealing feeling of magnanimity to the lowly service worker, while also saving me from shameful, occasionally mortifying instances when I am supposed to tip but don't realize it and come off looking like an insensitive and unsophisticated yokel.
I like to think of myself as one of these guys. It would be nice to have that kind of character, either way. But the truth is that I am not either of these guys. The truth is I am Mr. Principal, tipping wildly and inconsistently, based on a host of inscrutable criteria including: my mood, how much cash I happen have in my pocket, my obsessive-compulsive desire to make the total charge into a nice round number, how much of a hurry I am in, whether my preferred sports team just lost, the consensus opinion of my tablemates, my momentary amount of sympathy for the working class (especially if the server is a member of a disadvantaged socio-economic minority) and his or her name, just to name a few.
Part of the problem is that I just don't know the value of things. Sure, I know that 15 to 20 percent is typical for restaurant/wait staff. But I still don't know for sure how much to tip a pizza guy, or a cabbie, or a bellboy, and when I try to be precise about it and I need a few bucks worth of change back, there's always that awkward moment with the person where they're slowly, delicately leafing through their wad of cash and there's this heavy subtext weighing down the exchange where you suspect that they're taking their sweet time because they know you're impatient to eat your pizza or get to your destination or go to your room and there's the chance that you'll just say "aw, forget it, keep the change," and you know that they know that and so you dig in your heels and take on the posture that you're not going to get ripped off, even for a single dollar, and even as you say to yourself "not for a single dollar" you can feel your resolve weakening with each second that goes by, and you start to wonder if you wouldn't pay a single dollar or two just to extricate yourself from this endlessly stupid, self-conscious transaction.
It only gets more complicated in Hawaii, where the economy is utterly out of whack (See Footnote No. 8), inflating the price of everything to Airport Snack Bar-level preposterousness. And remember that the local populace is completely dependent on tourism and the generosity of visitors, not to mention the fact that serving someone frozen drinks on a beach, for example, is so tonally and symbolically different than serving someone Jalapeno Shooters at Applebee's - not just environmentally or on a mere "satisfaction" level but based fundamentally on customer expectations - that it hardly even seems like the same job, especially when the hotel is a five-star palace (like the Four Seasons or the St. Regis) and everyone, from the CEO to the bell captain to the actual clientele, even, are held to a certain caste-behavioral standard. Plus some of places actively include an 18 percent gratuity charge and then add a totally separate line for "additional gratuity," and so you feel obligated not to just leave it blank like some cheapskate tightwad and you have to come up with totally new math to figure out how much more money you have to pay to ensure beyond the shadow of a doubt that your next room service meal won't come with nose hairs in it, even though these places are usually the five-star palaces where the service is impeccable even if you treat them like dirt, which I'm sure their fair share of wealthy and non-wealthy patrons do.
You just want to be a nice, generous guy who fits in, and you want to be pampered a little bit. But the whole system is vaguely corrupt and jerry-rigged so that I don't have any idea what kind of tip is appropriate at all, especially for those people you just don't deal with regularly, like concierges or courtesy shuttle drivers. So ultimately it's easier just to come to terms with the fact that I'm not Mr. Principle or Mr. Prince; I'm going to undertip some people and overtip some other people, and sometimes that will be appropriate and sometimes it won't, and because you'd rather they took your money than your sanity, and if you're lucky you just add it to the cost of going on vacation.
On one side is Mr. Principle [*], the deeply righteous and discerning tipper, with an acute and finely honed sense of superlative service. Each and every tip is painstakingly calculated according to a series of discrete factors including: attentiveness, courteousness, promptness, preparedness, generosity, cleanliness, attractiveness, ability to flirt without being obvious or weird, ability to recommend drinks and dishes that will be to my liking, ability to fulfill my most quirky and extemporaneous whims, ability to anticipate even my most subtle and inexpressible needs, willingness to go "above and beyond," and whether they remind me of somebody else I know even if I can't quite place it. And because this reward is the product of my thoroughly thoughtful evaluation system, the actual size of the tip - though almost assuredly well within the range of common standards - is irrelevant; to get a tip at all from Mr. Principle is a prize in and of itself.
The underlying theory at work here is that lofty expectations will compel servers and the like to try and meet those expectations. Tom the Waiter will think to himself, "This tip is insufficient. I would like to increase my tips. I will have to step up my game." With the help of instinctual ambition and self-improvement, and at a minimal cost to me, excellence is encouraged and achieved.
On the other side is Mr. Prince, lavishly and indiscriminately dispensing cash from one end of the resort to the other, buying attention and favor from the “help” - waiters, bartenders, baristas, hosts, hostesses, maitre’ds, busboys, bellboys, cabana boys, towel dudes, doormen, chambermaids, valets, concierges, lei ladies, chauffeurs, cab drivers, bus drivers, airline pilots, flight attendants, tour guides, salesgirls, men’s room attendants, bystanders, passersby and members of the clergy - even those who are dismissive or disinterested, establishing the notion that I am a real Big Shot with a backside that requires a great deal of attention and affection, not only because my cavalier attitude about money in relatively small denominations identifies me as one of the hotel's premier V.I.P.s but also because of the unspoken assumption that There's Plenty More Where That Came From If You Play Your Cards Right, Believe You Me.
The operative theory here is that the service employees will "follow the money" and bestow special attention, favors, etc. on the generous tipper in the hopes of obtaining another outrageously inappropriate tip. Tom the Waiter will think to himself, "Maybe if I refill his Diet Coke and offer him some complimentary pineapple slices, he'll give me another ten dollars, and I can just go on ignoring that jackass who gave me a $1.38 tip along with this itemized list of my ranking on various performance scales." Owing to man's naturally avaricious nature and the "invisible hand" of pure capitalism, my comfort is assured. This approach also provides the gently appealing feeling of magnanimity to the lowly service worker, while also saving me from shameful, occasionally mortifying instances when I am supposed to tip but don't realize it and come off looking like an insensitive and unsophisticated yokel.
I like to think of myself as one of these guys. It would be nice to have that kind of character, either way. But the truth is that I am not either of these guys. The truth is I am Mr. Principal, tipping wildly and inconsistently, based on a host of inscrutable criteria including: my mood, how much cash I happen have in my pocket, my obsessive-compulsive desire to make the total charge into a nice round number, how much of a hurry I am in, whether my preferred sports team just lost, the consensus opinion of my tablemates, my momentary amount of sympathy for the working class (especially if the server is a member of a disadvantaged socio-economic minority) and his or her name, just to name a few.
Part of the problem is that I just don't know the value of things. Sure, I know that 15 to 20 percent is typical for restaurant/wait staff. But I still don't know for sure how much to tip a pizza guy, or a cabbie, or a bellboy, and when I try to be precise about it and I need a few bucks worth of change back, there's always that awkward moment with the person where they're slowly, delicately leafing through their wad of cash and there's this heavy subtext weighing down the exchange where you suspect that they're taking their sweet time because they know you're impatient to eat your pizza or get to your destination or go to your room and there's the chance that you'll just say "aw, forget it, keep the change," and you know that they know that and so you dig in your heels and take on the posture that you're not going to get ripped off, even for a single dollar, and even as you say to yourself "not for a single dollar" you can feel your resolve weakening with each second that goes by, and you start to wonder if you wouldn't pay a single dollar or two just to extricate yourself from this endlessly stupid, self-conscious transaction.
It only gets more complicated in Hawaii, where the economy is utterly out of whack (See Footnote No. 8), inflating the price of everything to Airport Snack Bar-level preposterousness. And remember that the local populace is completely dependent on tourism and the generosity of visitors, not to mention the fact that serving someone frozen drinks on a beach, for example, is so tonally and symbolically different than serving someone Jalapeno Shooters at Applebee's - not just environmentally or on a mere "satisfaction" level but based fundamentally on customer expectations - that it hardly even seems like the same job, especially when the hotel is a five-star palace (like the Four Seasons or the St. Regis) and everyone, from the CEO to the bell captain to the actual clientele, even, are held to a certain caste-behavioral standard. Plus some of places actively include an 18 percent gratuity charge and then add a totally separate line for "additional gratuity," and so you feel obligated not to just leave it blank like some cheapskate tightwad and you have to come up with totally new math to figure out how much more money you have to pay to ensure beyond the shadow of a doubt that your next room service meal won't come with nose hairs in it, even though these places are usually the five-star palaces where the service is impeccable even if you treat them like dirt, which I'm sure their fair share of wealthy and non-wealthy patrons do.
You just want to be a nice, generous guy who fits in, and you want to be pampered a little bit. But the whole system is vaguely corrupt and jerry-rigged so that I don't have any idea what kind of tip is appropriate at all, especially for those people you just don't deal with regularly, like concierges or courtesy shuttle drivers. So ultimately it's easier just to come to terms with the fact that I'm not Mr. Principle or Mr. Prince; I'm going to undertip some people and overtip some other people, and sometimes that will be appropriate and sometimes it won't, and because you'd rather they took your money than your sanity, and if you're lucky you just add it to the cost of going on vacation.