Tipping… a virtue

Proprietor: Beach Bistro, Eat Here and soon to come, the Doctor’s Office.

My Uncle George was the closest thing I had to a grandfather.

George loved sniffing out pretensions and poking them in the eye.

He drove his uptight neighbors nuts.

George once took his split-level home in a new subdivision with shrubbery and flower beds and a nice green lawn next to all those similar split-level homes in the subdivision with shrubbery and flower beds and nice green lawns and ripped out all the greenery and covered the entire property with a foot of horse poop.

George then strung fish net and stood some poles in the poop and planted pole beans in the fish net. He planted blueberry bushes everywhere else.

Turned out pole beans and blueberries love horse poop.

It was my proudest moment when Uncle George announced to the family that I was to be his partner in the farm.

I was age 5.

By making me his partner he got a lock on my mom.

My mom could not prohibit my weekends and summers with Uncle George if I was a partner.

Her kid hanging out with her incorrigible older brother might be preventable, but there was no blocking a partner from fulfilling his fiduciary responsibilities.

As his partner, I was to get half the crop.

I liked blueberries. I had no firm opinions on pole beans but I sure loved working with Uncle George.

Uncle George and I would spend a couple of hours climbing around in horse poop and then we would go “on break.”

We would dig clams or poach lobsters or hang out with guys on wharves drinking beer and cussing and working on their boats.

Then came Sunday evening — a tragic time for me. I was always saddened by the long drive back home in the waning light.

As I got out of the car, George would slip me a couple of bucks.

A couple of bucks then was like fifty now. With a buck you could fill a paper bag the size of your head with penny candy.

I would argue with him… “I can’t take pay. I’m a partner. I’m getting half of the crop.”

George would say… “It’s not pay. It’s a tip. It’s extra because you worked hard.”

And that is what tipping is.

And that is how tipping works.

It’s an extra for people who work a little harder.

I learned more about the efficiency of tipping while working as a rookie waiter at Arnaud’s in New Orleans.

When a good tipper entered the restaurant, the seas parted to find him a table. He not only got better and more gracious service, but often “lagniappe” as well — an extra oyster or a better cut of beef.

My certainty about the value of tipping was crystalliazed by a visit to Prague a few years ago.

Tipping had not been part of the culture in Prague.

Service people there were paid a monthly wage.

Period.

If you wanted a cold beer in a clean, cold glass, there was no particular incentive for the waiter to make the glass clean or cold, or bring the beer any time soon.

But the worst of service on that Prague trip was provided by our super corporations, the soulless monoliths who control access to our money, communications and transportation.

While in Prague, my cell phone did not work.

My Citibank credit card displays a picture of an airplane, but it never works if I take an airplane anywhere.

We had to function without a change of clothes because Delta decided not to ship my bag. The Delta guy said the bag was heavy and the plane was overloaded — so they left it on the tarmac in Atlanta…in the rain… for three days.

Calls to get money from Citibank or baggage from Delta or phone service from AT&T were met with reminders that “my business was important” and the “conversation was being recorded to assure better service.”

But there is no tipping in the corporate world.

And I would have been happy to tip someone at Delta to find my bag. I would have tipped anyone at AT&T or Citibank or Delta who sounded like they gave a damn about anything.

Tipping has a magnificent virtue — it works. People really do work a little harder if they believe they will be rewarded for the effort.

The next time you reach for the pen to write a gratuity for the waiter on your restaurant check, be thankful for the opportunity.

It helped you get a cold beer in a clean glass.

Stay tuned for another slice of wisdom. “Tipping: Politics and Economics.”

TIPPING JOKE: True Story

One evening a co-worker of Sean’s at Arnaud’s wasasked by a patron, “Waiter can you tell me what 15 percent of this check is — just off the top of your head ?”

The waiter replied, “No sir… but I can tell you 20 percent.”