Tip Jars

Man, are the tip jars getting out of hand or what?

Look, tips are fine and dandy and, in the right situation, much deserved. I was a server at Applebee's for a few months in college, so I get it. Some employees' sole income is reliant on customer gratuity. Cool, I can hang. And when I tip, I tip well. But nearly all businesses have taken the idea of tipping way too far. Tipping used to be a gracious gesture; now, it's not just expected, it's demanded. Putting a tip jar in your face proves it. The tip jar is now separating you the customer from them the service providers.

I'm just not going to throw tips around. I'm not a supporter of giving a tip to someone for doing the job expected, especially when you've paid for the job -- unless the service is given on a gold platter, in which case I might throw a couple Washingtons your way. We need to think about the outlandish placements of these tip jars, seriously.

Here's what I mean:

Fast food: Suddenly, a great wave of tip jars have landed on the cash register counters of fast food joints all over. No, no tip. It's fast food, folks, who are you kidding? You get no tip from me for reaching around and grabbing the burger someone else made. Besides, there's a reason you have a 99-cent menu -- your customers are cheap. And I'm one of them.

Bathroom attendants: So, let me get this straight: you want a dollar or two for wearing a suit and handing me a paper towel? Okay. Wipe my butt for me, and we'll talk. In the mean time, I believe I can handle the arduous task of grabbing my own paper towel to dry my hands, thanks. Kind of creepy that you're there in the bathroom with me just staring and waiting to assist. Please leave.

Car washes: There might not be a tip jar, but those folks wiping down the car sure deliver all the body language that scream "Tip me!" as you get in your car. Well, thank you, car-wiper-downer, for doing your portion of the service for which I paid your manager. Your tip is somewhere in that $29.95.

Anywhere there's beer: Please take care of your bartenders. They work hard dealing with specific drink orders, open tabs, and loud, annoying drunk people. But I'm not asking for a shaken martini with two olives and a shot of love -- I just want a beer. A beer they're not brewing. A beer they're merely grabbing and opening. That action doesn't warrant a dollar from me. Tell you what, just give me the beer, and I'll open it. That'll free you up enough to clean up that girl's vomit.