The Tipping Point

I know some big tippers -- ones who exceed 20% on a regular basis. My mother doled out cash like an ATM, especially during the holidays. (People loved her.) My dad was also exceedingly generous but depended on fewer service people than Mom did while focusing his largesse primarily on his family. 

My sister takes generosity to a whole new level and invited her house painters to swim in her pool to cool off after a long day’s work. From my purview, you might as well ask them to Thanksgiving dinner and pay their mortgages.

As for me, I am cool with a 20% tip. What I am not ok with, though, is the tip ask on checkout screens that became a thing during COVID. This gratuitous gratuity grab is a form of extortion. 

Last week, the New York Times printed a letter from a reader whose dermatologist presented her with a tip screen while she was “groggily” paying for a cosmetic procedure. This strikes me as outrageous and enough to ruin a Botox job.

During the pandemic, we were all in it together and I did not hesitate to add a tip to my takeout orders. Closed dining rooms deprived waitstaff of the opportunity to show their merit, so I gladly gave them the benefit of the doubt when paying for my takeout Pad Thai. But today, at the risk of sounding churlish, I must say I find no compelling reason to tip counter staff just for passing me an order.

This tipping point -- that is, the moment of transaction -- makes me ponder the point of tipping. Call me old-fashioned, but I always thought the reason for tipping someone was to provide a reward for sustained virtuous action. 

One restaurant had the right idea when they recently sent me a $100 gift card in acknowledgment of a series of significant service failures. I like this. Tipping should be a two-way street.

Yes -- of course, I will tip a valet for bringing me my car -- but in general, a server needs to stay with me and do a good job for the course of a meal in order to garner a 20% reward. There are times when a negligent server causes me to reduce the 20% acknowledgment to 18% or even 15% -- which is as low as I will go. 

Unless I go to zero. That is my latest, harsh referendum on this new custom. Now when a cashier swirls a pad in my direction to add a tip for pulling a chocolate croissant from a display case, I demur. Passing me a cup of coffee is not tip-worthy.

Tellingly, the counter staff will sometimes tell me that “it” -- meaning the pad -- is going to ask me if I would like to add a tip. By this avoidant logic, it is not really the person checking me out who is demanding the tip, but rather, a sales terminal. Said personnel sometimes look away in seeming embarrassment, as if they, too, cannot believe the machine’s chutzpah. This situation is awkward all-around, but I have come to embrace not tipping as a breakthrough moment of self-assertion.

Does any of this make me a jerk? Should I just fork over more cash because someone handed me a plastic fork? 

I don’t think so. If you agree with my protest, can I get an amen? 

And if you disagree with me and acquiesce to tipping’s new normal, please feel free to add 20% to my bill.