The 250 Square Foot View

By Bobby Calise

The Office’s Dwight Schrute once pontificated: “Why tip someone for a job I’m capable of doing myself? I can deliver food. I can drive a taxi. I can—and do—cut my own hair. I did however, tip my urologist, because I am unable to pulverize my own kidney stones.”

Like Dwight, I’ve always found the rules on tipping to be rather arbitrary. Why is it sacrosanct that we tip a waitress 15 to 20% for average service, but many of us are much stingier when a cab driver adequately gets us to our destination on time and unharmed? Why do many people leave their barber a generous tip for a job well done, but never more than pocket change and lint to our Subway sandwich maker?

Using myself as a case study of a frequent bar hopper, my standard rule is to tip $1 per beer. Whether I’m drinking $10 Stellas on the roof at 230 Fifth or chugging $1 Natty Light out of red Solo cups at a college bar, the bartender is still getting a dollar a drink. Think about that: my dollar is a 10% tip at one place and a 100% tip at another. The act of pouring beer is exactly the same in both places, so the tip should be the same, right? Well, the evil eye I’d probably get from the rooftop bartender would suggest otherwise.

I know a guy who runs a part-time dog grooming business. He charges a flat rate for house calls and often clients tip him on top of that, sometimes as much as 50%. The tips tend to be better when the dog needs more grooming…or when it tries to bite him. Let me repeat that: he stands to make the most money if a dog mistakes his hand for a chew toy.

Assuming you’ve worked out your own system for tipping the various service professionals here in America, traveling abroad comes with its own set of tipping etiquette quagmires. I recommend giving yourself a head start and reading a travel guide for that country in advance. When I studied abroad in England, I had previously read that the English don’t tip bartenders. Still, I usually tried to leave an extra “quid” on the bar when I had it. As a result the bartenders always seemed to find my face in the crowd of people waiting for a fresh pint. On another occasion during a weekend trip to Dublin, our group found a busy cafe to grab a cheap breakfast. Not realizing that our waitress was not working on tips, someone asked, “Can I have a free refill on my coffee?” The waitress replied, “Free refills? What do you think this is, America?”

My oddest tipping experience came during a two-week stay in China last May. My girlfriend and I had read in several books that tipping doesn’t exist in mainland China. We adhered to that policy pretty strictly, though we were willing to bend the rules for masseuses who could sooth our barking dogs—the kind that don’t bite—after long days of sight seeing on foot. But when you’re staying in a touristy area, such as The Forbidden City district in Beijing, the service workers know that they can probably convince you to tip them if you’re from a country that regularly pays a gratuity. One particularly aggressive taxi driver—whose taxi, for the record, was a two-seat cart pulled by an electric motorbike—unabashedly cajoled us for a little extra on top of his fare. Using perhaps the only English he spoke, he said, ”tippa tippa tippa.” (Imagine how you’d say ”tickle tickle tickle” to a baby.) Confused, I gave him a 10% tip, one yuan, or the equivalent of about 7 U.S. cents. He looked at me, laughed, and said again, “tippa tippa tippa.” I handed him one more yuan. He laughed again, shook his head, and zoomed away. It seems that when it comes to tipping, China is the worst of both worlds. The service professionals don’t work on gratuity so they’re not inclined to provide better service, but they still ask for a tip. Next time, I’ll keep my 14 cents.

At this writing I’m no closer to answering the questions I asked above. In the end, I guess, a waitress may not be able to control the frugality of her customers, but at least the food service industry has some degree of self-policing built into it. The concept of serving defiled food has been well-documented in cinema (see: Fight Club, Road Trip, or Waiting), so much so that it’s even created an irrational fear for some of us. I once was out to dinner at Applebee’s with a college friend and her younger brother who was visiting from home. The meal was good and the service was fine. When we got the check, there was some discrepancy and we asked the waiter to please take a second look. When he left the table to review it, my friend’s younger brother said, “Oh great. Now he’s gonna spit in the bill.”