Tipping is not a small fishing village in China - Part III

Of course, there are some occasions when you shouldn't tip. I remember a particular weekend in Calgary, Alberta, where I was staying with my (now ex-)husband, and two friends from the ski resort. On Saturday night, we went to a popular restaurant downtown. It wasn't a chain restaurant, but they do also have one in Toronto. I can't remember the name of it, but it specialises in BBQ food. The place in Toronto is fabulous and the food is amazing, so we figured the one in Calgary should be about the same. How wrong we were.

First up, although we had booked a table for four, and even though the restaurant was only about two thirds full, we were left standing by the door for ten minutes before someone saw fit to seat us at our table.

The table they put us at only had place settings for two people. As we obviously had been sat in the invisible vortex where the waitresses couldn't see us and didn't want to come closer anyway for fear of getting sucked into a black hole (and possibly deposited in... oh, I dont know.... Wigan - a fate worse than death), I had to go and take two sets of cutlery, napkins, glasses, etc. from an empty table nearby.

Eventually, one waitress donned her special specs that allowed her to see the invisible table, and, in spite of the dangerous vortex, decided to grace us with her presence, although you could tell by the grim look on her face that she wasn't happy about it. By the time she came over to tell us the specials, we were clutching our stomachs with hunger. We told her we were ready to order. She took the food order from the couple, then from my ex, and, just as I opened my mouth to speak, she started walking away. Apparently she'd decided that I wasnt eating that night.

My ex called her back over, and she, grudgingly, took my order. I've never met the girl in my life, so I don't know what I'd done to offend her, but when I asked for a glass of water as well, she looked at me with murder in her eyes.

Our food arrived after about half an hour and it was average at best. The waitress didn't clear our table for about another fifteen minutes after we'd finished eating, and we had to wait about twenty minutes for the bill. As I said at the start, the restaurant wasn't that busy, so I can only presume that she'd since lost her bottle and the vortex was proving too scary for her.

When our bill arrived, everyone reached into their pockets, out of habit, to leave the standard tip. But I told them that I refused to tip that cow. The service was abysmal, she was rude to the point of being offensive and the food wasn't up to much either. However, I knew that if we didn't leave a tip, she'd just think that it was because were horrible people, or stingy or something. So we left her a dollar. Enough to let her know that we do understand the concept of tipping, but little enough to let her know what we thought of her waitressing "skills".

Another occasion where you shouldn't tip is when the staff are presumptuous. Once of my brothers told me that he recently went for a business lunch in some trendy restaurant in Dublin. It was in the financial part of the city, and thus was full of wankers in suits. The clientele wasn't much better (boom boom!). Anyhoo, he said the food was excellent and, while the waiters were a bit snooty, they were efficient so he couldn't complain. The bill came to €230, and, as none of the four guys at the table had any small notes, they ended up putting €300 on the table. They sat there, waiting for the waiter to bring back their change so they could leave a tip and go. And they waited. And they waited.

Eventually, one of them nabbed a waiter and asked for the change. He looked at him in astonishment and said, in his snooty voice, "I presumed the €70 was the tip". Needless to say, the boys got their money back and walked out without leaving any tip.

So, having spent three blogs waffling on about it, here are my tips (way hey!) to anyone who's interested or confused about the whole thing:

- If your waitress has been working her butt off for you, leave a generous tip to show your appreciation. It doesnt have to 20% but I think that 15% is a good compromise. If you can afford to eat out, then you can afford to leave a decent tip.

- Don't count out the tip to the last penny. It makes you look like a stingy twat. Round it up to the nearest dollar at least.

- If your waitress has a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp and is rude to you, then dont feel obliged to leave a tip. Sure, she's on minimum wage, but she can't expect to make any money by being rude to people.

Tipping is not a small fishing village in China - Part II

The next place I worked in was much better. It was the "Starbird Steak and Grill House" which was in Panorama Ski Resort, right up at the top of the Rockies, on the border between British Columbia and Alberta. Now this was a nice place. I worked there for the ski season 1999/2000 and had a fantastic time. Some of my fondest memories of Canada are from that time. I was living with a great bunch of people, down in the town of Invermere.

For many of us, it was our first Christmas away from home, so we had an Orphan Christmas Feast on Christmas Day which was amazing (lots of great food, unlimited alcohol and drunken Twister). We had a wicked New Years Eve party up on the mountain, which started about midday and went on until about 7am. We watched the tv coverage of the new millennium being rung in all across the globe, and everyone joined in in the Dublin celebrations (I was the only Irish person on the resort, so a bit of a novelty). Then we stole a load of champagne from the guests "Traditional NYE Feast" and drank it on the slopes whilst shooting fireworks at each other.

My going away party was one of the best I've ever been too. About a hundred and fifty people piled into our house and we partied until the Mounties were called (apparently there were naked people running around in the snow outside, frightening the elderly neighbours), and then we partied some more.

Precious memories!

Anyway, getting back to the waitressing thing. In this place, we were properly trained in waitressing, bar tending, making fancy coffees, dealing with dickhead chefs, etc. We had two lovely lady restaurant managers, Fiona and I forget the other girls name. While they were strict at work, about once a week after work they'd bring us to the pub next door and buy us shots all night - nice girls! The other waitresses were great craic. Howard, the head chef, used to try to make the girls cry, but was nice to me cause I'm Irish. Our bartender was a lunatic snowboarder who was always coming in to work with black eyes and broken limbs, but was one of the best bartenders I've ever known.

Anyway...

One day, four guys from New York came in after lunch and were seated in my area. I went over and told them about the specials, etc., and they said "Honey, we're not that interested in the food. Just bring us four steak sandwiches and a wine list." Initially, I thought they were going to be assholes, but I figured they were from New York so if I Irish it up a bit, I'd get by. I brought over the wine list and they proceeded to quiz me on it.

Now, we had to take a brief wine course as part of our training, so I knew a little bit, but it became pretty evident that I didn't actually know that much about the wine. Nonetheless, I threw in the occasional "begosh" and "begorrah" and the guys were putty in my hands! They stayed for five hours, and got through about ten bottles of fairly expensive wine, plus numerous beers. I think the bill at the end came to about $400, and they left me an $80 tip. Now, don't get me wrong, I worked my butt of for those four hours. I made sure they didn't once run out of food, wine or witty Irish banter for the entire time, so I earned my tip, but I still have to say that was pretty sweet!

As we were the only restaurant in the resort that served breakfast from 06:00 (meaning I had to get up at 5am every day, which was nice), most of the resort staff ate in our joint. And, even though these were people that we lived, skied and played with, and even though we knew how badly they were paid (i.e., as badly as us), they still tipped us every day. Admittedly, it wasnt 20%, but the thought still counts.

Of course, it wasn't all hearts and flowers. I remember a certain group of people from a country that shall remain nameless (*cough* I'm living in it right now *cough*). Sorry, I swallowed a fly. Anyway, this group of people had obviously been told that you tip 10% no more, no less. After every damn meal, they would count out the tip, to the last penny. So, on a bill that came to $72.30, they would leave exactly $7.23 as a tip. That's almost offensive, because you know they're tipping because they feel they have to, not because they felt that the service was worth it. Why be so stingy? Why not just leave eight dollars? Tight bastards.

Next door to our restaurant was a bar, where the guests and staff used to drink, and where one of my housemates, Christine, used to work. Chris used to give me a lift home most evenings, so I'd usually stop by for a beer after work whilst waiting for her. One evening, when I had finished, I went next door for a drink and couldn't help but notice that Chris was absolutely fuming. When I asked what was wrong, she told me the following:

A group of five Canadian guys rolled into the bar about 3pm that afternoon, having spent the day snowboarding. For the next six hours or so, they ordered beers and nachos, which Chris promptly served with a smile and bum-wiggle (she was gorgeous, and a bit of a flirt). She made sure they never had an empty pitcher on their table, laughed at their crappy crude jokes, etc. all day long. Now, on the 1st January 2000, BC brought in a smoking ban in public places, which included bars. So customers had to go outside for a smoke, which these boys did all afternoon. They never once complained about it. Whenever they wanted a cigarette, they would go outside and stand under the heated gas lamps, smoke to their hearts content, and then come back inside to their table, where Chris would top up their beers and flash them another flirty smile. All was good in that little bar.

When they finally asked for the bill, it had come to something like $300. Chris reckoned she'd get a pretty good tip from it, as she'd worked damn hard all afternoon. The guys charged the bill to one of their rooms, and, instead of filling in the little box where you can add your tip, they wrote: "No smoking, no tip". They were punishing Christine for a law that their own government brought it, and yet they hadnt complained about it once all afternoon.

Dickheads.

And morons...

...Because, you see, they left their room number on the bill, when they charged it to the room. So we went and found out who they were, and what rooms the rest of them were staying in. For the remainder of the week, whenever they tried to book a table in our restaurant they were told that we had no tables available. If they came into the bar, they got the worst service possible - always served last, beers slammed down on the table in front of them with as much spillage as possible, and I'm not even going to speculate on the sour cream on their nachos...

Tipping is not a small fishing village in China - Part I

When I lived in Canada, way back at the turn of the century, I worked as a waitress for a couple of months. I had never waitressed before, so it was a new experience for me. I quickly got the hang of it, and I like to think I was quite a good waitress too (I knew how to "Irish it up" for extra tips).

The first place I worked in was a complete dump. It was on Lakeshore Blvd. in Toronto, and it had some really crap French name which I've since erased from my memory in an attempt to deny any involvement with the place. It was the kind of place that only served beer 'n' wings, and had at least one fist fight in the parking lot per night. You know, a classy joint. Anyway, I applied for a job because it was right across the road from where I lived, I was desperate for a job, and I didnt exactly have a... um... "legal" visa, so couldn't really get a proper job, as such.

On my first day, I met my "trainer" - a woman with the fattest ass I've ever seen on a relatively slim chick. Her name was probably Darlene or something, I don't really remember. She didn't bother learning mine, so I paid her the same courtesy. You can see we were off to a good start.

Darlene informed me that, as I had never worked in a bar before or waitressed before, I would have to do three days training before I could work by myself. During this time, all of my tips would be handed over to her as she'd really be doing double the work (mine as well as hers) while I watched and learned. Now, most of you are probably thinking "Why didnt you tell her, at this early point, to shove her job up her gargantuan arse, and walk out of there?" Let me remind you, I was desperate for a job. Also, I figured "How much money could I earn in tips in three days, when I've never done this before? Probably not much, so, fuckit, Ill do it."

And so, Darlene proceeded to sit on said enormous arse, smoking and drinking beer, for the next two days, whilst she ordered me around the bar. I worked my damn ass off. I remember one time she called me into the kitchen (which was, I might add, fucking disgustingly dirty. I wouldn't even drink water out of the taps in there) and bollocked me out of it for having spent ten minutes discussing books with one of the regulars sat at the bar. I protested "But, you told me to make conversation with the regulars!" and she replied with "Yeah, but none of that smart shit!" I swear to god, had I opened a book in front of her I would have heard the classic "Looks like we got ourselves a reader!"

In two days, I made about $100 in tips.

And that bitch took every penny of it.

So, on the third day, I told her that I didn't think she should take my tips that day, as I'd been working twice as hard as she had, and I felt that I deserved my tips. She said that them's the rules, and if I didn't like it, I could ring the boss (whom I swear is a member of the Canadian Mafia) and complain to him. So I told her that I'd do just that, and not only would I complain to him, but I'd tell him to stick his job where the sun don't shine. With that, I handed her my apron, got my coat and walked out. She followed me outside yelling that I couldn't just walk out after two days, and that I wouldn't get paid for it, etc., etc. I just kept on walking, never looked back.