As you enjoy our city, don't forget to tip

Don’t forget to tip, folks. And leave those cows alone. (Photo by Tom Watson/Flickr)

When I was 16, I got a job at Ponderosa Steakhouse in Clarksville, Ind., as a dishwasher. Glamorous stuff. I worked my way up the chain of sweaty, taxing jobs and spent a short stint waiting tables, taking care of customers. I was making $2.85 per hour.

I won’t go into details here, but either I was terrible at my job, or people who ate at Ponderosa in the 1980s didn’t tip wait staff.

Anyway, I did that job long enough to learn beyond a shadow of a doubt that I never, ever wanted to do it again. Some of my co-workers were really adept at it and made good tips. Again, I must have just not been good at it.

I successfully made good on my pledge to never serve the public in that particular capacity again for nearly four decades. Four decades. And then I got laid off last summer. So, through a friend I got a part-time job selling bourbon and wine and helping people through tastings.

Here’s what I’ll say: I’m better at it now than at 16. Humility will do that to you. I’ll also say this: Some people still don’t tip.

Because of my short stint serving bad steaks to folks on stupid metal plates, I remained sensitive to the no-tipping epidemic all my life. My benchmark is 20%, and if I have more money on a given day than others, I’ll bump it higher. If I especially like the bartender or server, I’ll tip extra. I am sensitive to the fact these folks live on their gratuities. (I feel tipping is an outdated practice and that these people should make a liveable wage, but I’ll save that for another column.)

After about six months of my return to employment in the hospitality business, I’m pretty sure some of the people who come into the shop where I work (it’s a fun place called Taste Fine Wines & Bourbons in NuLu and an oft-overlooked gem, with 250-plus bourbons ready and waiting) are the same folks eating those gristly steaks back in the ’80s.

One young couple came in from Wisconsin and spent about an hour tasting wines and bourbons. I chatted with them, made them laugh a few times, and on their way out they bought two of the bottles of wine I had recommended to them. The bill came in just over $100. The tip? $3.

We have people who come in who, I swear to you, I think one of their great pleasures in life is to make an emphatic slash or a zero with a line through it in the space designated for tips. Sometimes I think I can hear them giggling as they do it.

Sometimes people forget to tip, or don’t know when it’s appropriate, which is an honest mistake. Where I work, which is half retail, half drink sales, I suspect some don’t know tipping is in order. One guy recently, when I handed him the credit card receipt to sign for me, said, “Oh, you get tips?” I said, “When I’m a good boy, I do.” So he left a tip.

I’m not complaining, mind you – I find it a fascinating study. For every person who writes that big fat zero in the tip line, there’s another one right behind them who’s going to tip you $10 on a $30 ticket. Some people are generous and understand the struggle. They care.

But the whole point of this column is to remind you, as you’re out there enjoying the wonderful restaurants, bars, distilleries and other attractions our great city has to offer, that these people are part of your experience. And often, they work for tips.

And trust me, as someone who has come back into the hospitality fray, they’re working hard for you.

Find out more about Kevin and his work here. Follow him on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook as well.