Tipping the Scales

Written by Bob Rehak
Edited by: Sharon Estill
Joboja Staff Writers

Do you think that there's a tip jar in heaven?

If Saint Peter is anything like every other person I've met in a service industry in the past five years, he's got a tip jar right next to the pearly gates. It's probably more like a tip chalice, though, all pearlescent and glowing, with the word "tips" in elegant script etched on the side.
It used to be that you only had to tip waiters, waitresses, deliverymen, cab drivers and bellhops (those were the guys who brought up your luggage at a hotel). Part of the reasoning for tipping was that those occupations typically paid minimum wage and relied heavily on tips to make coming to work worthwhile.
I should know. I delivered pizzas for 17 years and relied heavily on tips to make coming to work worthwhile (although I may have done it for free since I got to eat all the pizza and pop I wanted for free. Plus I married the cutest phone girl in the place—the ultimate tip!).

Nowadays everyone has his hand out, usually in the form of a classy Styrofoam cup. If you go to a dry cleaner, there's a Styrofoam tip cup. If you patronize an ice cream shop, there's a tip cup. Go get a haircut and the cashier makes sure to hand you your change in singles, but first she has to move the tip cup out of the way. Order fast food from any place that doesn't have a sign that says "billions served", and chances are they have a tip cup.

My question is this: For what? What do these folks do that is so special that it warrants a tip?
Tipping is nothing new, of course. Only this concept of tipping everyone who hands you a receipt is new. According to Wikipedia (the great "Oz" of the internet), the word tip comes from the 16th century verb "tip," which meant "to give unexpectedly." Modern day etymologists say that tip is an acronym for "to insure promptness," or "to improve performance" or "thanks in payment."

My own interpretation of the word is "this is piracy."

Honestly, though, I feel partly to blame for this "tip me, I'm Irish" (or German or Swiss or whatever) mentality. Back in the early 80s, when I was happily delivering pizzas to customers and pick-up lines to my future wife, I would most certainly expect a tip, no matter if the pizza was hot and on time, or needed to be re-warmed in the oven (you do remember ovens, don't you?).
On a busy Saturday night, in the middle of the rush, I'd stuff a dozen pizzas into my Datsun (it was a make of car, trust me). I'd stuff more in my car than my customers could chew, which would result in the last pizza in the car being really late and really cold. But I still expected a tip. I always expected a tip.

I expected a tip even if I had taken a quick left turn and turned the family pizza into the family calzone. I expected a tip if I brought the wrong pizza, even if Junior was allergic to onions.

I even expected a tip the time I got impatient and knocked on the customer's storm door so hard that I put my hand through the glass. (I didn't get a tip from that lady, but she sure did move awfully fast to answer the door from then on).
Look, if you're in a service industry and you're making minimum wage, I think you deserve a tip. Let's just not overdo it. At the rate we're going, I can see a day where everyone takes a Bic (it's a pen) to the nearest Styrofoam cup.
You want to know where they keep the deck screws at Home Depot? Aisle 7, thanks for the tip. Need to pay cash on the Metra for a one-way ticket? That'll be $5.80, and I'll keep the change. Your fluoride treatment is done, sir. Here's a new toothbrush. Don't forget to tip your hygienist. Thank you, your Honor, for the two-month suspended sentence. Here's a tip for your wisdom.

And I don't think that anyone is getting out of this tip-crazy world alive, either. Come to my wake to pay your respects. Stand in the receiving line and let my wife know how sorry you are for her loss. Let her know that you enjoyed reading my stuff (on occasion). After you pass the casket with the Cubs logo on the side and the lighted pizza delivery sign on top of the closed end, take a good look at me. If you think I look good (for a corpse), be sure to tip the mortician on your way out.