July 9: The Power of the Promise

When I was a little kid, I was walking along a sidewalk just outside of my house when I came across the two kids that lived next door. A brother and a sister, they were both in their back yard and I stopped to talk to them over the fence. I must have been four or five-years-old because this conversation took place with the neighbors of a house I lived in until just before I turned six. Forgive me for not being able to recall more of the memory, but it's been a while.

Anyway, I remember walking on this sidewalk and then stopping to have a chat. I don't remember what the chat was about or why I was walking down this street by myself at such a young age, but I just remember the girl telling me how important it was for me to keep my word whenever I made a promise. I'm paraphrasing here but she said something along the lines of, "You have to do it because you promised."

If only life were that simple. A promise in the eyes of a child means everything. A promise in the adult world means nothing. People make promises all the time only to abandon them. To us, the word promise is just a word that we throw into an intention to add effect and hope. "I will take out the trash tomorrow." "I promise to take out the trash tomorrow." I don't know about you, but I would naturally rather put my faith in the garbage being taken out tomorrow on the second guy.

Unfortunately, life isn't that easy. Unless you really know the person, a promise doesn't have any power at all. I usually try to give the benefit of the doubt to a person making his or her first promise to me but am, more times than not, disappointed. Take my recent run-in with a fellow employee. A week ago, he promised me that he would do everything in his power to adjust the schedule to my benefit. When approached about the subject three days ago, he acted as though he had been spending every waking minute on the task at hand. Tonight the results of his efforts will be revealed. My prediction: he didn't try at all and he just threw in the P-Word to avoid any further confrontation with me.

Promise a child you will be there for his baseball game and you better have some explaining to do if you miss it. Promise a fellow employee that you'll cover his shift next Friday and they're just words. I promise to do my chores right after this TV show. I promise to take out the trash. I, (Bride/Groom), take you (Groom/Bride), to be my (wife/husband), to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; and I promise to be faithful to you until death do us part.

July 6: Gratuity Not Included

It sits on the counter quietly as I wait in line. It stares at me as I walk forward and give my order. Silently, it screams at me and makes a scene. I'm the only one that can hear its calls. The girl behind the counter knows it's there as she spreads mayonnaise on my sandwich. She smiles to herself because she is aware of the internal struggle I'm having. The short, stout monster sits with its mouth open and waits for me to pay for my lunch. It begs. It pleads. It heckles and taunts.

Is there anything more (for lack of a better word) offensive than an empty pickle jug sitting next to a cash register? The jars/boxes/jugs are always covered with a piece of paper with the word Tips boldly written in black marker. Occasionally the sign will also include a colorful smiley face or some gold stars, but the message is always the same: Give me more money for a job that I'm already being paid to perform.

As an employee that makes his wages off of the graciousness of patrons, one might think my stance on the tip jar would be different. What you may or may not know though, is that I get paid $2.13 an hour without my tips. I'm counting on a guest to leave a tip. I pay my bills on those tips. The tip jar, however, is set up by an employee that is already making at least (and sometimes more) minimum wage.

Minimum wage isn't a lot of money, but that's the salary agreed to work for when hired. During the interview, I doubt the employer said, "You'll be making X amount of dollars an hour plus tips collected in a dirty, banged up jug. Feel free to decorate that jug to your liking."

I feel uncomfortable when sitting at a red light while a vagabond holds a cardboard sign that reads, "Will work for food." I don't like being approached by the homeless for money either. I get the same feeling when I'm paying for a sandwich and I see the tip jar sitting on the counter. I'm paying for the sandwich; not the service. I still have to pour my own drink and get my refills. I still have to throw away my trash. If I wanted service, I would go to a restaurant and have the sandwich served to me. Am I supposed to tip you for preparing my sandwich? Why don't I tip the cooks in a restaurant then?

Where do the tips stop? Do I tip the guy that comes out and replaces my windshield? I think you're supposed to tip your mailman and newspaper delivery guy every Christmas, but no one tips their mechanic. We tip our hair cutters and our masseuses, but why don't we tip our grocers and our doctors? In "The Robbery" episode of Seinfeld Jerry asks, "What do you tip a wood guy?" in reference to a wood delivery service. He then asks if he has to tip a gardener.

The line is definitely blurry. Who do you tip? Who don't you tip? I think it should be left up to the customer. Everyone knows you tip a waiter; that's a given. Everyone else is paid a salary. Putting a filthy jug on a counter where you pay for your sandwich is too much. If you don't tip, you're a cheap jerk. You're never thanked for your contributions so why bother? My solution: don't insult the guest with the jar in the first place. Get rid of it.