Waiter Rant

by Steve Dublanica

  Tipping’s origins are somewhat lost to history. Some believe that the practice developed in the tavern houses of Europe, when men would throw the bar wench a few coins to ensure the ale kept flowing. (Even back then it was hard to get a bartender’s attention.) Many people erroneously believe that the word tips had its start as an acronym for the phase “to insure prompt service.” If we hewed to a literal interpretation of that ideal, then customers should be tipping the waiter before the meal is served. That certainly wouldn’t fly with today’s dining public, and I’ll bet it didn’t fly in the 1600s either. Besides, the notion that tips is an acronym for “to insure prompt service” is just as patently absurd as the belief that fuck is an acronym for “forbidden unclean carnal knowledge.” It sounds good, the facts kind of fit, but it isn’t true. It’s an etymological urban legend. According to the dictionary, the word tip is derived from English thieves’ slang word tip, meaning “to pass from one to another.” The notion of a stock tip or racing tip descends from the same slang word. At some point the word acquired the definition it has today, a customer giving a service provider a gratuity. In the United States, after some initial opposition, tipping for service became an established practice sometime after the Civil War. Despite all the confusion about tipping’s origins, one thing’s always been true—waiters often get fucked on the tip.

  When you stiff servers on the tip, you’re really screwing them over. Waiters in the United States, with few exceptions, are not paid a salary. We don’t even make minimum wage. In the state of New York, tipped workers are paid $4.60 an hour. That’s below the state’s minimum wage of $7.15 per hour. The expectation is that our tips, coupled with our small hourly wage, will raise our compensation to the state minimum-wage level. Some rare states like Oregon allow waiters to collect the full state minimum wage of $7.80 plus their tips (I want to move there). If you’re working in a Nebraska diner, however, you’re only getting $2.13 per hour. The laws vary from state to state, but, suffice to say, waiters need tips to survive. Ever wonder why waiters get pissed when cheapskates stiff them on the tip? If your boss arbitrarily pulled money out of your paycheck, money you needed to feed your family, then you might get a sense of the rage involved. Waiters have one of the few jobs where their compensation depends on the whims of their customers.

  And believe me, waiters get stiffed. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen patrons walk out of the restaurant without leaving a gratuity. When it happens to me, I usually grin and bear it. I’ve come to the conclusion that waiters have to put up with the bad tips if they want to be around for the good ones. But not all waiters are as patient as I am.

  A few years ago I was working a slow weekday shift at The Bistro with Allie, my girlfriend at the time. Two young women were seated in Allie’s section. Allie, who was a very good waitress, doted on the young ladies. Running Allie ragged, the girls ended up ordering a hundred dollars’ worth of food and wine. After they finished their meal the girls asked for the check, hurriedly stuffed a wad of bills into the check holder, and raced out the front door. Allie, sensing something was amiss, ran to the table and frantically counted the money they had left.

  “Did they leave enough to cover the bill?” I asked, following close behind.

  “Yeah,” Allie said, her face flushing an angry red. “But no tip!”

  “Goddamnit,” I said, pissed that Allie was going to be in a bad mood the rest of the night. “If they can’t afford to leave a tip, then they can’t afford to eat out.”

  Allie wasn’t listening to me. Alllie was running toward the front door.

  “Wait a minute,” pleaded Brian, our old assistant manager, putting himself between the homicidal server and the front door.

  Allie pushed Brian aside, opened the front door, and ran into the street. I followed her outside and yanked her back onto the sidewalk.

  “Allie,” I pleaded, “don’t get run over because those two cows stiffed you.”

  Allie spied her customers sprinting down the street. Jumping up and down, she screamed, “THANKS A LOT, YOU CHEAP BITCHES!”

  It might be my imagination filling in details after the fact, but I swear all activity froze mid-motion at that instant. Even the cars stopped rolling down the street. Faces captured in a moment of time, every pedestrian on the street was looking at Allie.

  “You cheapskates!” Allie bellowed. “Never come here again!”

  The young women laughed, flipped Allie the bird, and continued on their way. I pulled on Allie’s arm, worried that she was going to run those girls down and beat them into a puddle. She could do it, too.

  “Not worth it,” I cautioned. “Not worth it.”

  “I could kill those bitches!” Allie said, her voice cracking. At that moment her anger transformed into tears. The financial consequences of not being tipped suck, but there’s an emotional and psychic toll as well. Not getting a tip hurts.

  I can relate to Allie’s pain. A few weeks ago, following house policy, I added an 18 percent tip to a ten top’s check. The host, who had seemed happy with the service all night, got upset when he saw the automatic gratuity.

  “You’re not worth eighteen percent,” he sneered.

  I remember how much that man’s words stung. That man assigned me a monetary worth and felt that he didn’t owe me a penny more. He must’ve confused the practice of tipping with bidding for an item on eBay. I felt objectified and demeaned. I somehow maintained my composure and informed the gentleman he could discuss alternative payment arrangements with the local constabulary. The man left my 18 percent.

  “Let’s go back inside,” I said to Allie, who was crying on my shoulder. “It’s all over.”

  After work I took her out to a bar and medicated her with several Chardonnays. Several patrons who witnessed Allie’s earlier meltdown came up to offer consolation and support. One of the well-wishers told us an interesting fact—our tip-challenged girls were waiters at a nearby restaurant. Sigh. No one brings it to you like one of your own kind.

  Servers don’t always remember good tippers, but we sure as hell remember the bad ones. The emotional pain and embarrassment of getting a bad tip burns that customer’s face into our brains—much the same way a trauma fuses the most trivial details surrounding an accident into a victim’s memory.

  When I started working at The Bistro, I had a customer who always tipped me 8 percent. It wasn’t just me or something I was doing—he tipped all the waiters 8 percent. After one abysmal tip too many, I confronted him.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I said. “Was there a problem with the service?”

  “No,” the man replied. “Why do you ask?”

  “You left me an eight percent tip,” I replied. “The customary tip is fifteen percent. I naturally assumed I was doing something wrong.”

  “Gee, Dad,” said the man’s teenage daughter, looking embarrassed.

  The man glared at me like a bully who’s just discovered that the person he’s picking on has a black belt in karate.

  “I’m sorry,” the man said, quickly pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. “I made a mistake figuring the tip.” The man dropped a few dollars on the table, dragging my tip total up to 13 percent. I took it.

  The next day Fluvio got an angry e-mail from that customer, claiming that I had embarrassed him in front of his daughter and a restaurant full of people. Bullshit. I had called the guy on his cheap-ass ways, and he didn’t like having his character exposed for all to see. Fluvio and I had a big fight over that one. To make a long story short, Fluvio posted a directive that any server who complained to a customer about a tip would be fired. Fluvio was right, of course. It’s a no-win scenario. They’ll just spread their special brand of parsimonious misery at another restaurant. After that incident I never directly criticized customers over their cheapness again, expect when they asked me to.

  One night I served a young couple on a first or second date. The man, a take-charge sort of guy, ordered a mess of expensive food and a pricey
bottle of wine. I gave the couple great service, so when I saw the 9 percent tip the man left me, I was slightly aggravated. As the couple got ready to leave, the man excused himself to use the men’s room. When he was out of sight, his date waved me over to the table.

  “Can I ask you something?” asked the woman, a very sexy redhead.

  “Of course, madam.”

  “Did my friend tip you enough?”

  Smiling, I opened the check holder and showed it to her.

  The girl’s face turned redder than her hair. She reached into her small purse and pushed a crumpled twenty-dollar bill into my hand.

  “Sorry about that,” she said.

  “Thank you, madam,” I replied, slipping the money into my pocket.

  The man returned from the bathroom with a bounce in his step. Stupid bastard thought he was getting lucky that night. I knew better. As soon as the couple stepped outside the girl said something to the man and quickly walked away, her arms folded across her chest. The guy stood in the middle of the sidewalk looking like an artillery shell just landed on his head. Served him right.

  Listen up, guys—sometimes girls will ask the waiter how much you tipped. They use it as a litmus test. They think that if you’re not generous with the waiter, that means you won’t be generous with them—whether that generosity is financial or emotional. Besides, bad tippers suck in bed.

  Why do people tip what they do? Why are some people good tippers? Why are some people bad tippers? Studies conducted by sociologists suggest that the quality of service a customer receives isn’t the biggest factor determining a waiter’s tip. Roughly 70 percent of what predicts a customer’s tipping behavior is the social norm of tipping itself. Society tells us that the standard tip is 15 to 20 percent. Since people usually follow the herd, the odds are good that 70 percent of all diners will leave the socially accepted monetary amount. Any waiter who’s ever given a customer bad service but has still gotten a good tip knows this dynamic’s at play. If tips were based solely on quality of service, then waiters would’ve gone extinct a long time ago.

  I know what you’re thinking. Seventy percent of a waiter’s work is done before we even get near a table. So why am I bitching about bad tips? I’m bitching because there’s still that other 30 percent of the dynamic that influences tipping to deal with. Think about it. If you get a 70 on a test, you’re getting a D! Having only 70 percent of your customers leave average tips is like you’re getting a D, too. A server has to get 80 to 90 percent of his customers to leave tips in the 15 to 20 percent range. To do that, a waiter has to have a firm grasp of the oddities, pressures, and subtle expectations that might increase or decrease a gratuity.

  A few years ago a study claimed that if waiters employed certain subtle nonverbal tactics, they could increase their tip percentage. The study suggested drawing a smiley face on the customer’s check, gently touching a patron’s shoulder, or kneeling at the table, ostensibly to be at eye level with the diners.

  When I read that study, I dismissed it out of hand. First off, touching the customer and adding saccharine artwork to the check works only if the server is a girl—and a blond, big-titted girl at that. Yes, the Cornell School of Hotel Administration spent good money on a study which proved that blond female servers with low body fat and large cup sizes made more money than their less-endowed female counterparts or male waiters. Never mind that if a guy draws a smiley face on the check, it’s just plain creepy. And kneeling at the table? That shit might fly at Applebee’s or the Outback but not at a high-end place. Can you imagine a waiter copping a squat next to a table at Gordon Ramsey’s London? Gordon would rip the server’s balls clean off.

  The other 30 percent of what determines a waiter’s tip boils down to how customers view themselves as people. If patrons perceive themselves as generous persons, and a waiter nurtures that feeling by treating them like a million bucks, then they will leave a good tip. Some customers like to think they’re in touch with the plight of the workingman. If waiters properly exploit that bourgeoisie guilt, then they’re going to pick up some extra cash. Then you get the customers who are snobs, people for whom owning brand names, wearing the right clothes, drinking rare vintages, and maintaining social standing are all that matter. If waiters project a subtle sense of deferral commingled with a slight hint of obsequiousness, these customers will view them like servants who’ve been in the family for generations and tip accordingly. Ass-kissing maître d’s are especially good at this. The surest way for a server to increase his or her tips is to follow the biggest vein of weakness in a customer’s personality and mine it for all it’s worth.

  A good waiter needs to push the right buttons in order to seduce a customer. In order to find those buttons, a server, like any good salesman, has to have a firm grasp of human weakness. Don’t think I’m immune, either. I like to be coddled, flattered, and made to feel like I’m the only person in the room, too. That’s why those lap dancers have so much of my money.

  Waiters also have to contend with the dreaded customer who’s never going to leave a good tip. Tight-fisted patrons incapable of generosity, these people are so afraid of losing whatever they have that they are unable to part with the tiniest piece. Giving gifts or money to others is painful, although they seldom have problems spending money on themselves. Chronically self-centered, they live in a world where they think people exist to serve them for little or no compensation.

  Case in point: I once had a man who started choking at one of my tables. He waved off all attempts for assistance, but when he started to turn blue, I stepped in and Heimliched him. (It wouldn’t do to have a customer die in my section.) I applied a few quick abdominal thrusts and the bolus obstructing the man’s airway projectiled out of his mouth and splattered onto the table. Can you guess what kind of tip the man gave me after saving his life? Eight percent! I also found out from the name of the credit card that this guy was a doctor. Next time I let him die.

  Customers like these are never going to change. The best way for a waiter to deal with these patrons is to fuck with them so they never darken the doorway of his establishment again. I know what you’re thinking. You think I should have more sympathy for my tip-challenged customers. “Maybe he or she grew up poor and fears growing broke?” That’s bullshit. Working-class people with far less money than their well-heeled counterparts with generosity issues are often the best tippers. I’ve known plenty of wealthy people who started out in life with nothing and are good tippers till this day. Shitty tippers are bad for business, and they’ve got to go. If you think I’m being callous, remember, a restaurant is a business—it’s not your dining room. I’m an independent contactor trying to make a living. If you have a business and you’ve got customers who chronically underpay or have invoices 90 days late, do you want to do business with them in the future if you don’t have to? No? I rest my case.

  Since tipping is a social behavior it should come as no surprise that patterns emerge regarding how people tip. I’ve noticed that patrons can be classified into several categories when it comes to tipping. For the sake of convenience, I’ve listed them for your perusal. See if you fit into any of these categories.

  The Verbal Tipper

  —Heavy on praise but cheap with the cash. I’m surprised they don’t put happy-face stickers on the check. I got enough of those cheap rewards in grammar school. Waiters don’t want hugs. Show us the money.

  The Accountant

  —Customers who tip on the amount of the check before tax. If forced to split a check of $100.01 between two credit cards, one guy will tip $7.50 and the other will tip $7.49. Always asking for duplicate copies of the check and complaining about the prices, these people enjoy a special place in hell. Oh, who am I kidding? These tightwads would ask Charon for a receipt before he ferried them across the river Styx.

  The Compensator

  —Usually cocaine-snorting, hooker-squiring, wealthy Neanderthal types who heap abuse on the waitstaff. These patrons, almost exclusive
ly men, tip lavishly as a way to apologize for their boorish behavior. Waiters tend to have ambivalent feelings toward these patrons. We love how they pass out the cash but don’t like how they make us feel like whores.

  The Flat Tipper

  —You could spill hot soup on their baby or treat them like the sultan of Brunei, they’ll always tip you 15 percent.

  The Ingratiator

  —People (usually rich) afflicted with bourgeoisie guilt who want to demonstrate to themselves and everybody else that they’re “down with the workingman.” They give nice tips, encourage you to call them by their first names, and sing your praises to the owner. But if you start dating their daughter, they’ll freak the fuck out. Guess who’s coming to dinner?

  The Sugar Daddy

  —Out-of-shape, wealthy Lotharios who try securing sexual favors from waitresses by giving them embarrassingly large tips. These mono-browed guys, who should be popping Zoloft instead of Viagra, think cash is going to make that hot-bodied twenty-five-year-old overlook their shocking lack of social graces, three ex-wives, personality disorders, and the wily thicket of hair growing out of their ears. Repulsed at the thought of being purchased like cattle, most waitresses can spot these guys coming a mile away. They’ll take these men’s money, of course, but just when the guys start licking their lips in anticipation, the waitresses’ll turn around and tell them they have a boyfriend, are married, are lesbian, are trangendered, or are some combination thereof. Sadly, not all waitresses are immune to this nonsense. We’ve all seen nebbishy-looking rich guys squiring unbelievably hot babes while the much better-looking waiters, doormen, and busboys burn with envy. Money can create an alternate sex appeal. Every server knows at least one waitress who gave it up to a rich guy. Yes, I know I’m being a tad misogynistic, but don’t be outraged. Male waiters are far worse. They’ll screw anything that moves for free.