Why Going Out Shouldn’t Hurt At All
I just walked out of the wine shop across the street from my apartment building and I tipped the salesperson for my purchase. You might be wondering if that is something you’re supposed to be doing as well. Don’t worry. It’s not at all normal behavior. But, if you know me, you know that I consider myself someone who tips well and frequently. More so, I tend to tip people who don’t expect it or even ask for it. So, to a large population of Americans, I am part of the problem.
We are currently experiencing a cultural phenomenon of tipping fatigue. There is a pervasive sense of confusion about when or if to tip and how much that seems to be exacerbated as more shops and stores have changed to point-of-sale systems that utilize a touch screen for you to pay. As we quickly eschew paper money and plastic credit cards and become a society of fully digital capitalists, we seem to be signaling a desire for a system that is fast and thoughtless. Who has time to count out bills or open their wallet? Let me just tap my phone screen at another screen to make this payment!
What’s causing a lot of the anxiety is that most of these touch screen interactions end with a request for us to leave a gratuity, causing an unpleasant interruption in our forward motion at the register. We’ve all seen it. Someone’s finger hesitates over which percentage square to choose while they debate how much tip, if anything, to leave. Maybe they are worried the barista will switch their drink to decaf if they don’t leave at least 20%. Meanwhile, the person behind them is getting antsy because they just want to order their oat milk latte and leave, too. It’s making people wonder about the necessity of the tip.
New York magazine had an issue recently devoted to these questions of proper societal behavior in our current cultural zeitgeist. The cover page boasts the absurd question, “Is Everyone Tipping 25% on Bottled Water?” The author outlines what they believe should be norms as far as tipping. This includes: 20-25% at restaurants, at least 20% to baristas, $5 or 20% (whichever is highest) to food delivery drivers (more in bad weather), etc. The outgoing message of the article seemed to be that 20% or more for any kind of a service is a safe zone to exist in if you aren’t entirely sure what to do.
But encountering a touch screen that requests a tip every time you make a purchase at retail stores or delis is causing a backlash among consumers who feel pressured to spend more money during a time when everything is already more expensive. Unfortunately, those in the service industry are suffering the most as consumers push back against this forced system of generosity that some people think may be unwarranted. So why, then, do I continue to participate in a system that has its origins in American slavery[1] and potentially perpetuates an imperfect means of wage distribution?
Because the world can be a better place if you do it right.
I tipped the guy at the wine shop because I know him. There are two guys who work there that I know. They are sweet, slightly nerdy Gen Zers with wardrobes styled directly from Beacon’s Closet. Let’s call them Scott and Ian. Scott and Ian used to be regulars at a pop-up restaurant I helped manage that served smashed-patty burgers and craft cocktails. The restaurant was adjacent to the bar I run, and my business partner and I offered the space to our chef so he could try to generate some additional revenue for us.
Scott and Ian frequented the restaurant because it was close to the wine shop and one of the bartenders, Craig, was a real cocktail nerd, which they appreciated. About once a week, I would see them bellied up to the bar enjoying a New York Sour or some other bespoke concoction that Craig would manufacture for them.
They became regulars. Regulars are the lifeblood of a good bar. You need them to create your vibe. Like good lighting and music, the right regulars make a place feel more inviting and encourage other people to drink. When you achieve the status of regular at a bar, you can receive certain perks. I used to tell Craig to give Scott and Ian drinks from me whenever I saw them, and they would in turn leave Craig a generous tip.
As regulars, they saved some money because they didn’t have to pay for the drinks, just the tip.
For the equivalent cost of the ingredients for two cocktails, I was able to make three people happy: two customers (because they were getting free drinks) and the bartender (because he made more of a tip producing two drinks than he would have if the guys had had to pay for them). Even more, Scott and Ian would now be more likely to continue to return (and maintain their status as regulars) which is good for the business. It’s a win-win-win.
This rewards structure that exists within the tipping system is known as the buyback. If you are a regular at a bar or if you are a brand-new customer and you have had two or three drinks and tipped a reasonable amount each time, you may find yourself in a buyback situation. In both of these cases, because of the economy of retail purchasing, many bars permit their staff to reward you with a free drink, food item, or even a round of shots. It’s like a punch card you didn’t know you had. This flexibility to give away product is contingent on a system that puts tipped wage earners in direct control of their earning potential. There is a sense of authority over one’s domain when you are empowered to invest in customers by giving them an unexpected freebie and trusting they’ll return the generosity. And don’t we all feel a bit special when we get an unsolicited shot of chilled tequila?
I tip Scott and Ian to continue to pay that kindness forward and to remind them of the good experience they had drinking at my bar. But, more than that, they are regulars in my life now. Whenever I walk by the wine shop, I wave at the window in case one of them is working. And I do walk by at least once a day because the wine shop is directly across the street from my apartment building. When I go in, they always recommend wines that I enjoy because they know my taste, and I’m always happy to see them around the neighborhood.
Scott and Ian are part of the mosaic of my block. They are like Mr. Cheng at the laundromat who folds my fitted sheets better than I ever could and my deli guy, Emiliano, who always tells me, No trabajes tanto! when I stop in for oat milk and bottled water. I always tell Emiliano he’s the one that shouldn’t work so hard. They are my community of regulars.
And since you are wondering, I tip 50% on my laundry drop-offs and I always leave the change when I buy something at the deli. No cambia, gracias, I say, and stuff a few dollars and some coins in the plastic cup by the register. It’s easier than taking out my wallet again and it makes the kind woman at the register smile. Emiliano will shout to me from behind the deli counter: Cuidate, mami!
Neither of these practices is normal or expected. It is customary to tip 20% to the people who do your laundry (and $5-$10 to the person delivering it to you depending on how far they have to travel to bring it to you). It is not customary to tip the guy at the deli unless he made you a sandwich or did anything else that requires him to put on gloves and use a slicer or flat top grill. So, why do I do it?
It’s less out of an expectation of a tangible return on the investment of the extra dollars, and more as a recognition of their significance in the machinations of my city existence. If I learned anything during the months of pandemic lockdown it is that any small bit of kindness to your neighbors can have meaning beyond what you may ever know. And kindness is certainly something in constant need of replenishing. But my life is made better by it as well.
I tip the laundry guys excessively because they always prioritize my laundry when they are busy even though I tell them they don’t have to. And they greet me warmly every time I stop by, with a chorus of “Ahh! It’s Marisol!” Also, they had a terrible fire a year ago and had to shut down for several months to repair the damage. There was a handwritten sign in the window (next to the picture of the laughing Buddha) that thanked us for our support when they reopen. I actually have laundry machines in my building, so I don’t need to use their service. But I want Mr. Cheng to have a successful business and, frankly, I am a little lazy. So, I drop off my clothes and tip too much. Every Christmas, they put a card in my bundle of clean clothes with a handwritten note thanking me for my kindness.
I tip Emiliano at the deli because he works seven days a week and has never greeted me with anything except genuine friendliness. When I forgot my wallet and my phone one time, he didn’t hesitate to let me take my Girl Dinner bag of popcorn and a peanut butter Kind Bar and pay him later. Leaving a few dollars of my change from our weekly transactions does not probably make a huge difference to his overall income, but it doesn’t hurt. And it’s my way of showing him that I respect and appreciate him as a human being.
Yes, it’s true that the system of tipping is a legacy of slavery in America and effectively justifies paying a population of already disadvantaged people a wage even lower than the legal minimum (which, if we’re all being honest, is not a living wage). I am not debating any of that.
As someone who has derived over two decades of personal income either directly from tips or from running a business that employs tipped workers, I feel particularly qualified to provide my perspective of the advantageous side of a tipping industry. I also firmly believe that tipping culture has spiraled out of control and the people suffering the most from this are those who deserve the dominion that a tipping system can provide. By this I mean those who provide a direct service, specifically bartenders and servers. Even before the iPad touch screens became so ubiquitous, tipping put service industry staff in frustrating situations.
Once, I witnessed a particularly annoying interaction between a bartender named Ladell and a customer whom I gleaned was on holiday from the UK.
“Oh, mate, I’m sorry,” he said to Ladell without making eye contact, “You know we don’t tip where I’m from.” The man then scribbled his signature on a receipt for the three lagers poured for him and didn’t write in an amount on the tip line. To Ladell’s credit, he just smiled and ended the conversation there.
Unfortunately for this man, I have a terrible habit of not being able to stop myself from talking shit. It’s one of the perks of being the boss in a business. There’s no one to scold you when you’re being a bit goading.
“Hey, sorry!” I chirped. “Quick question.”
Lager man wrapped his long, bony fingers around his pints as he prepared to pivot away from me in his bright white trainers.
“You have been to the States before, right?” I asked in my politest tone.
“Yeah, loads of times.”
“So, you do know that it is customary to tip here. Even if you don’t do it back home. Right?”
Before he could interrupt, I continued, “I’m just saying. It’s totally fine. Like, don’t worry about this check.” I motioned to the tipless receipt in the clipboard on the bar. “But just in case you wonder why you might not get the friendliest reception from other servers or bartenders while you’re here, it’s because it is pretty common knowledge that we tip here.”
“Well, you lot should pay your staff better. Why’s it my responsibility?”
“Ohhh,” I said, “So, by not tipping this person who is just doing his job, you are effectively casting a vote to ignite some sort of infrastructural shift in the American service industry economy? Is that it?”
He stared blankly at me.
“Cool, cool, cool. Anyway, enjoy your beers. Cheers!”
Ladell turned to me and laughed as the man walked away unbothered.
I smirked at Ladell. “Too much?”
Conversely, on another occasion, I was in line behind a woman at the juice bar near my apartment. The woman had just purchased a bottled green juice, the liquid fixer for all pseudo-healthy adults. I watched as she tapped her phone against the blue rectangular touch screen to pay for the drink.
Five prompts popped up in white square letters reading, “5%, 15%, 20%, Other, No Tip.”
The woman growled. “Ugh, this is so stupid. I’m not tipping on this.” Her voice pitched up and she knitted her brow at the stoic young man on the other side of the counter. He didn’t respond.
The woman whipped her head toward me, searching for any ally in the moment as she clutched her prepackaged bottle of juice.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” I said plainly while willing her to leave so I could order an acai bowl and get on with my life.
After placing my order, I said thank you, tipped 25%, smiled, and stepped off the line quickly.
I do not blame the woman for not wanting to tip. To my mind, it wasn’t necessary. The worker didn’t execute an individualized service during their transaction. They didn’t gather the different ingredients, blend the juice, and pour it into a container. There was not a direct service provided, so she didn’t need to acknowledge the effort with a gratuity. But she also didn’t have to make a snide comment to the worker. Using the moment to chastise a stranger over something that they cannot change about their job—a job they are just doing to earn a living—is pointless, rude, and achieves nothing.
The reason so many people have worked as bartenders or servers in New York City and other major metropolitan areas (and, frankly, loads of smaller cities and towns) is that it’s generally thought of as a fun job where you can make a lot of money. Yes, the tipped-employee system used to permit managers to pay their workers far below minimum wage. That is no longer the case in many states. In New York City, for example, businesses with food service workers are now allowed to take what is called a “tip credit.” The current tip credit rate ($5.00) permits employers to pay tipped wage earners $10.00/hour (which is $5.00 below minimum wage). If the employee does not make at least $5.00/hour in tips per hour, the employer is required to pay them the difference.
On its face, that may seem like a bum deal. However, most businesses do not have to take advantage of this tip credit because most tipped employees make far more than $5.00/hour in tips at bars and restaurants in New York City. As an example, my employees make an average of anywhere from $30-$60+ per hour in tips and we pay the full-time workers $15/hour on top of that. Before taxes, bartenders and servers can make $50,000-$80,000 a year, and most of them work less than 35 hours per week and have 3 days off per week.
To my mind, bartenders and servers absolutely deserve to make a base salary of at least $50,000 annually. But for a bar to pay its staff that amount, the business model would have to alter drastically. Conservatively, this could mean increasing payroll by three times the current amount, which means unless the cost of goods meaningfully decreases (a certain impossibility in our constant state of inflation), we would have to significantly raise prices for the consumer. A $15 cocktail would be closer to $40.
I’m sure you see how that is unreasonable. Enter, the tip.
So what are you paying for by tipping? We all learned during the pandemic that you can drink at home. You don’t need to spend $15 plus tax and tip on a cocktail. People go to bars to be around other people and to potentially make some bad decisions that lead to unexpected adventure. We go to commiserate with friends and/or strangers about whatever bullshit is bothering us on a given day. Sometimes, we go to meet new people. Often, we go to be somewhere besides home or work so we can sip on a perfectly poured Manhattan and just be.
Bartenders and servers facilitate all of that. Not only do they have to provide you with food and drink in a timely and enjoyable manner, but they also have to negotiate hundreds if not thousands of social and psychological maneuvers. They talk to people who want attention and give space to people who want to be left alone. They profile every person they encounter to determine what kind of day they are having and respond accordingly. They also monitor situations for potential distress, answer millions of questions, engage, entertain, and counsel—their customers and their coworkers.
As a bartender, I’ve had to participate in conversations about the weather, the Rohingya refugee crisis in Myanmar, and the merits of Nancy Meyers’s film oeuvre, and detail my favorite goals by Lionel Messi. All in one day. Imagine if most of your day was spent at a cocktail party where you were expected to be the driving engine of conversation for eight-to-ten hours while remembering hundreds of different drink and food orders and executing physically demanding labor.
Ten hours on your feet carrying trays full of plates and glasses, hauling buckets of ice up and down stairs, balancing martini glasses while navigating through crowds of drunk people with no concept of personal space, shaking a margarita with one hand and stirring a Manhattan with the other. And doing it all while smiling and doing math in your head. It’s exhausting. Add to that the constant expectation to participate in the lives of strangers. I’ve helped customers set up wedding proposals, advised single guys on the best photos for their dating profiles, and flirted with regulars to improve their chances with the dates they bring to the bar.
It’s not all fun, though. An unfortunate and all too often by-product of too much alcohol can also be extremely belligerent behavior. Bartenders and servers put their safety at risk when someone gets aggressive. It was not so long ago that there were videos popping up every day on our social media feeds where restaurant workers were being physically assaulted for trying to get customers to comply with mandatory masking regulations. Even before the pandemic, service industry workers experienced workplace violence. I once had a saltshaker thrown at the back of my head because I wouldn’t seat two people at a table for six. I’ve had drinks thrown at me, and I’ve been spit on, screamed at, and vomited on by more drunk people than I care to remember.
It’s not just about making drinks and serving food. It is work that merits that 20% and then some.
The most salient advice I garnered from that New York magazine article is: “The higher your level of disposable income, the more generous you ought to be.”
And this is the primary reason why I strive to be someone who tips too much and in unexpected situations. I am by no means wealthy, but as a childless woman who has never been married and recently paid off all her student loans, I am comfortable. And, beyond the obvious reason that it is just the right thing to do, I firmly believe in my ability to be a vessel of wealth distribution.
If everyone aspired to aggressive generosity, it could potentially shift the gap of income disparity. Obviously, more important changes, such as taxing billionaires proportional to their wealth, are more significant and we should definitely strive toward and vote to enact such measures. However, in your own universe, if you are able to and if everyone participates, you can potentially impact someone else’s life in a small way monetarily and a larger way humanely. It could change the day of your weary bartender who is brought to tears by an unruly customer. You can validate someone’s humanity with a kind word and an appropriate tip. All with just a few extra dollars on the round of High Noon hard seltzers you buy for you and your friends at a club.
For my part, I will continue to Johnny Appleseed my disposable income throughout the streets of New York and hope that it makes a difference in someone else’s happiness, if not their livelihood. Even if it’s just for a moment of unexpected gratification. It doesn’t hurt.
[1] Read more about this legacy: Rund Abdelfatah et al., “The Land of the Free,” NPR, March 25, 2021, https://www.npr.org/2021/03/22/980047710/the-land-of-the-fee.
Marisol Aveline Delarosa writes nonfiction and fiction, and she is a first-year student in the Creative Writing MFA program at The New School. She is a New Yorker but hopes to also have a home in Barcelona someday. Marisol has been selling alcohol for over two decades and currently runs the only real bar left in the Meatpacking District. You can find more of her work at www.thisisnotcake.com.
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