Etiquette dictates that I shouldn’t have more then a very brief cell phone conversation in public. Sure you can talk in public with the person next to you, but if you want that conversation to happen over the phone, it’s just not right. Apparently it’s rude of me to rob nosy people of the ability to hear both ends of dialogue. Two people talking in the same public space side by side, go for it. One person in the same space on the phone… well it’s just not proper etiquette to stop eavesdroppers from having full conversational enjoyment. It’s downright barbaric.
And when you aren’t using your knife it is to be left on your plate, sharp side facing inward.
Never, ever outward.
And your drink must always sit on the right side of your plate. What, were you raised by wolves? Don’t know how to follow proper
etiquette? I mean come on, if we all started putting our cups on whatever side of the plate we just so happen to feel like, well then we’re no better then the common dung beetle.
Etiquette is an extension of the childhood game of ‘tea party’ in which little girls, dolls, and select teddy bears do their best to kick it high society style. There are strict rules on how to conduct themselves in such a game, and if Mr. Cuddles the stuffed giraffe can’t pull himself together and act refined he’ll most certainly be shunned.
Some of these kids grow up and retain this need to uphold the laws of basic human decency, the things that civilization itself is built on… basically whatever makes them feel superior.
There is, I should add, no word on whether or not your average teddy bear grows out of tea party stage or not, although I am sure telemarketing being what it is that eventually we’ll have reliable sample numbers from our cotton brethren.
Etiquette can be learnt we’re ensured. You can read books, pay to sit through lectures. You can become refined! You can tip everyone from your tattoo artist to your mail man!
Oh the tip, the act of giving someone a little extra then the cost, something for them to keep and fail to mention on their tax returns. The bonus for a job well done.
I suppose the original meaning behind the word tip, 16th Century German for “to give unexpectedly” was not something the etiquette police learnt between afternoon teas.
To give unexpectedly we do not. The tip is a strict process. The proper percent has been outlined for you, calculated and set in stone, each service its own rules and regulations.
Two dollars a suitcase, not one! What the hell is the matter with you? You clearly can’t function in proper society.
No, we are not to believe in the phrase ‘to give unexpectedly.’ So much so that those blessed with a clear sense of civilized and uncivilized have invented a view backronym’s to help justify the word. “To Insure Promptness”, “To Improve Performance,” and so on.
The thing is we aren’t really sure why we tip anymore, are we? Even with all the guidelines to what percent you owe the bartender who got you a beer with extra head after chatting up the nearby brunette… we really can’t conclusively say why we’re doing it.
At some point in my naïve adolescence it was taught to me that the tip was a means of rewarding someone who goes above and beyond the call of duty, who gives you an amazing level of customer service and who really, truly deserves something extra. The tip I learnt, was on a sliding scale, depending on this service.
I guess this system only exists if you are dining alone, because I am pretty sure a waitress can get your order wrong, spill coffee on you, greet your every request with a why-don’t-you-just-die stare, and mock you for ordering milk… and if you attempt to leave without a gratuity left at the table, your fellow diners will react in shock. Rude and cheap may be bandied about. You’ll be told off for clearly having no idea what it is like to be in the service industry. And if you don’t crack and offer you 15% bonus to the waiter, your etiquette superior will forcibly cover your tip for you.
So it’s not about customer service. Maybe it’s because these professions are paid so poorly? But then I don’t remember anyone in the Sporting Good’s Store passing the hat when I went to buy shoes made by a kid in
I have worked in the service industry, a full service gas station. One without a canopy, exposed to all sorts of weather. It’s a job without a chance to sit, where I would be on my feet all day. A job where I’d be berated for every slight climb in the price of gasoline. And I second hand inhaled the stuff all day long, putting my brain cells at risk, and possibly paving the way to kidney issues or cancer.
Really I probably wasn’t paid enough for all that. And from time to time I’d refill your washer fluid, clean your windows, pump your gas, and check your tire pressure all well it rained and hailed. I’d do it quickly (I tend to move faster when jagged pieces of ice are falling from the sky) and somehow with a smile. In return you’d give me a tip. I appreciated it, it motivated me some days to offer the same quality service to the rest of the customers.
But more often then not there was no tip. For the majority I’d pump the gas they want, tell the price, and take the money, transaction over. Just doing the job. Sometime’s I would even do my job below your reasonable level of expectation. Exhausted I’d be slow, swamped I’d forget to screw your gas cap back on. In fact I will even let you in on a secret, something you may suspect from time to time while dealing with someone in the service industry. There were times when I really didn’t care about you, dear customer. Yes, there’s something far more important in my mind then you sitting in your yellow hummer demanding answers to why you pay so much. Something on my mind that I much more care about. And sure I’ll go through the motions for you, because you are what stands between me and my pay cheque.
Why would I deserve something extra on those days?
Maybe it’s too much to ask when it comes to the rules of the tea party that have been dictated. But I’ll ask all the same. Can we all try clearing the stuffing from between our ears and remember that a tip is an unexpected gift? It’s a reward for doing your job well, and…
Oh you know what, I’m sitting here at this café writing and it just occurred to me, I completely forgot to put something in the tip jar for the barista who burnt my bagel. The poor girl. Hold that thought, I’ll be right back…
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