like, for a large party. He was counting on a fat tip, but he was out of luck and received something way below his expecta tions. Marcello proceeded to chase the customer out to the front of the restaurant and then, in full view of several patrons, loudly berated said customer for his penurious persuasion.
“I didn’t tip on purpose,” the customer shouted back. “You were rude and awful. You’re an asshole, frankly.”
“ Va fa’n culo! ” Marcello yelled. He then made the universal “up yours” gesture with his arm and fist and stalked off, muttering under his breath, “Call me an asshole? I’ll kill you, motherfucker!”
The customer Marcello yelled at was a regular at the restaurant and was singularly unhappy. He, too, ended up getting his dinner on the house. Marcello was fired. Law student that he was, however, Marcello applied for unemployment benefits, claiming that he had been unjustly terminated. The case actually wound up in front of a judge, who told Marcello that telling a customer to fuck off was certainly grounds for termination. Marcello claimed that he never told the customer anything of the kind. “ Va fa’n culo, ” he claimed, was a form of greeting in Italy similar to, say, “Shalom.” The judge turned to the general manager (also an Ital ian) who had fired Marcello and asked him if this was true. The GM replied, “Not in the part of Italy I come from. Where I come from it means ‘fuck you.’ ” Marcello never received unemployment. Last we heard of him, he was doing “contract work” in Las Vegas.
Admittedly, I have never had an experience that rivals Mar cello’s. Generally, fear of losing my job keeps me from making any kind of fuss over a bad tip. Ultimately, I’ve found, it evens out. One table may leave me a lousy tip, but the one after it probably won’t. There are other factors to take into considera tion as well. Perhaps a particular table didn’t anticipate the high prices and has come up short. Perhaps they’re too drunk or con fused to figure the correct percentage.
I waited on a three-generation family once who seemed to really be enjoying themselves. They had several dietary restric tions, so I ordered special dishes for them and recommended a couple of different wines. They took an interest in me and so I shared some details from my personal life with them. They were pleasant to wait on and they were very complimentary about the service. When I picked up the bill, however, I saw that they had written in a fifteen-dollar tip on a two-hundred-dollar tab. I was actually saddened more than upset over the low tip because I thought they’d really liked me. I spent the rest of the evening trying to figure out what I’d done wrong. A full week later, I was standing at the bar when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw a woman from this same party.
“I’m so glad I found you,” she said. “I’m very sorry about the tip we gave you last week. I didn’t realize until we left how low it was. My husband told me to ‘add fifteen’ to the bill and I thought he meant fifteen dollars instead of fifteen percent. It’s been bothering me all week because you were so nice to us. I wanted to give you this.” She handed me a twenty-dollar bill and smiled.
While this type of scenario serves to reinforce one’s faith in the human race, it is regrettably rare.
I have had two experiences that stand out as polar opposites on the tipping spectrum. Both occurred in the same restaurant. Viewed together, the two illustrate perfectly the peculiarity of the tipping system and its inherent contradictions.
The first involves a man who has since become a regular cus tomer in my restaurant. On one of his first visits, however, he sat down with three other men in my section. They seemed a crusty lot and were fairly demanding, but I’d decided to try to make the most of it and chatted with them while I was at the table. Mr. X had an accent I recognized as coming from
“I didn’t tip on purpose,” the customer shouted back. “You were rude and awful. You’re an asshole, frankly.”
“ Va fa’n culo! ” Marcello yelled. He then made the universal “up yours” gesture with his arm and fist and stalked off, muttering under his breath, “Call me an asshole? I’ll kill you, motherfucker!”
The customer Marcello yelled at was a regular at the restaurant and was singularly unhappy. He, too, ended up getting his dinner on the house. Marcello was fired. Law student that he was, however, Marcello applied for unemployment benefits, claiming that he had been unjustly terminated. The case actually wound up in front of a judge, who told Marcello that telling a customer to fuck off was certainly grounds for termination. Marcello claimed that he never told the customer anything of the kind. “ Va fa’n culo, ” he claimed, was a form of greeting in Italy similar to, say, “Shalom.” The judge turned to the general manager (also an Ital ian) who had fired Marcello and asked him if this was true. The GM replied, “Not in the part of Italy I come from. Where I come from it means ‘fuck you.’ ” Marcello never received unemployment. Last we heard of him, he was doing “contract work” in Las Vegas.
Admittedly, I have never had an experience that rivals Mar cello’s. Generally, fear of losing my job keeps me from making any kind of fuss over a bad tip. Ultimately, I’ve found, it evens out. One table may leave me a lousy tip, but the one after it probably won’t. There are other factors to take into considera tion as well. Perhaps a particular table didn’t anticipate the high prices and has come up short. Perhaps they’re too drunk or con fused to figure the correct percentage.
I waited on a three-generation family once who seemed to really be enjoying themselves. They had several dietary restric tions, so I ordered special dishes for them and recommended a couple of different wines. They took an interest in me and so I shared some details from my personal life with them. They were pleasant to wait on and they were very complimentary about the service. When I picked up the bill, however, I saw that they had written in a fifteen-dollar tip on a two-hundred-dollar tab. I was actually saddened more than upset over the low tip because I thought they’d really liked me. I spent the rest of the evening trying to figure out what I’d done wrong. A full week later, I was standing at the bar when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw a woman from this same party.
“I’m so glad I found you,” she said. “I’m very sorry about the tip we gave you last week. I didn’t realize until we left how low it was. My husband told me to ‘add fifteen’ to the bill and I thought he meant fifteen dollars instead of fifteen percent. It’s been bothering me all week because you were so nice to us. I wanted to give you this.” She handed me a twenty-dollar bill and smiled.
While this type of scenario serves to reinforce one’s faith in the human race, it is regrettably rare.
I have had two experiences that stand out as polar opposites on the tipping spectrum. Both occurred in the same restaurant. Viewed together, the two illustrate perfectly the peculiarity of the tipping system and its inherent contradictions.
The first involves a man who has since become a regular cus tomer in my restaurant. On one of his first visits, however, he sat down with three other men in my section. They seemed a crusty lot and were fairly demanding, but I’d decided to try to make the most of it and chatted with them while I was at the table. Mr. X had an accent I recognized as coming from
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