I have to talk about a dirty subject.  Tipping.  I’ve avoided this specific post merely for the fact that I see enough of them sifting through my newsfeed; but despite the excess of written material on this matter, it still seems to be an issue.  So let’s clear this up.

One, I don’t get paychecks.  Every two weeks, on Thursday, I get this nifty little envelope with a pay stub inside that says, “This is not a Check.”  My paycheck is a no-check.  Because what happens is that even though the IRS doesn’t care how much Donald Trump makes, they care how much I make, so every day I have to report my income.  And they tax that pathetic little number that I type in and take those taxes out of my check so that all that’s left is a resounding nothing.  I am literally paying my rent, tuition, student loans, etc. with the wrinkled five dollar bills that come from your back pocket.  So either you can leave a tip, or your taxes will be increased to pay for the food stamps and low income housing that I will inevitably require.  Your call.  But it’s probably just easier to front those five dollars now rather than an extra percentage out of every salary.  Trust me, that adds up quick.

Two, if you don’t tip, it means that I’m literally working for free (see above).  Think about that, consider it, ponder the ramifications.  Got it?  Good, nothing more to say about that.  It’s pretty self-explanatory.

Three, I tip out.  Yes, I have amazing busboys clearing my tables and an expeditor running my food and a bartender trying to figure out the ridiculously complex nightcap you insist upon ordering (although, usually, said bartender is me).  I tip out a total of 6% each shift, and that is an at the least figure.  Often, I tip out more because I’m of the almost extinct mindset that people should be paid well for working hard.  Based upon how many of you tip, this thought process has been on the endangered species list for ages.  When you leave me 15%, I’m only walking with 9%.  When you leave me 20%, I’m walking with 14%.  You can do math, so I’ll let this point lie.  But here’s the catch, I tip out irrespective of whether you tip me.  So if a table stiffs me on their 200 dollar check, I still have to tip out my busboy for the work because I have this thing called integrity.  Therefore, I’m giving him a minimum of 10 dollars for working that party, out of pocket.  So not only am I working for free, it turns out that I am paying to work.

The bottom line is that if you can’t afford to tip, than eat at home.  If you come in with children, you ought to tip more.  What they leave behind is a weird mix of the saddest and funniest thing you’ve ever seen.  While we’re at it, let’s just make it a general rule that you add a dollar for every substitution and unreasonable request (unreasonable requests are defined as asking me to change the temperature of the room and anything having to do with watermelon).  There is a two dollar fee for scooping bagels.  If I comp you a drink or pour you a double, throw something extra my way; personality isn’t everything.  Don’t leave me CVS extra bucks receipts or gift cards with a 1.05 balance on them.  One, I don’t know your phone number, and two, really?  Like, I could maybe order a sip of Starbucks Coffee for that amount.  Don’t leave quarters the guy in the back just bought a washing machine which means that he doesn’t go to the laundromat any longer which means I can’t trade those bad boys in and they weigh down my apron and this is my bother’s belt I wear it to fulfill the dress code not to be functional I rely on this apron to hold up my pants.  Don’t leave me little inspirational business cards with photoshopped waterfalls and big, vast green landscapes that say “Jesus Saves” or “God is Love” they’re both chill dudes but unless they’re considering the position of Sugar Daddy in my life, they’re not co-signing any of my bills.

Tip your server.  Tip them reasonably and tip them fairly.  Because if you flaking on five dollars is the reason mommy can’t put milk on the table, just know that the universe will certainly sort that out and you’ll meet your demise in an ironic and amusing way, perhaps drowning in a vat of the stuff, and then you’ll spend eternity in the Fourth Circle of Dante’s Inferno.  Or you could just tip.  That seems to work out well for the rest of us.