When I was in my early 20s, I felt comfortable with tipping etiquette. There were rules; I knew them. (Have I ever confessed to you guys that I used to read etiquette books for fun when I was in junior high? I loved the idea that there were rules to cover pretty much any social situation, and I could learn them. I was skeptical about Letitia Baldridge's assertion that a dinner party guest should eat a banana with a knife and fork. But I was willing to be persuaded.)
Alas, lessons learned from 1980s etiquette manuals don't do me much good here in the third millennium. For instance: it used to be that you tipped for table service, not counter service. I worked at a little bakery-cafe in 1987-88, and we never got tips. We thought it was deeply weird if someone tipped us. These days, though, everywhere you go there are tip jars. I never know quite what to do. The person scooping ice cream is getting paid to scoop ice cream. Under what circumstances should I throw in a tip? My sort-of policy has sort of been to add a tip if I'm asking for something more complicated than average. Is someone pouring me a mug of already-brewed coffee? That's what he signed up for when he took the coffeehouse job. Is someone making me a latte with a swirly leaf design in the foam? I'll probably throw in a tip.
It all feels a little awkward. On the one hand, nobody is living high on the hog on coffeeshop wages, and tips can ease the pinch. On the other, no individual can address income inequality, and maybe expanding tipping culture is the wrong way to go about it. I googled tipping etiquette and wound up a little more stressed out about the whole thing. Real Simple says you're supposed to tip your tow truck driver -- I had no idea. (Of course, Real Simple also says you're supposed to pre-sanitize your hotel bathroom and only handle the bedspread while wearing hazmat gear. Maybe their secret mission is to leave middle-aged women feeling clueless and wrong-footed.)
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