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The Awkward American Tradition of Tipping in Restaurants

Tipping isn’t a city in China…

There are certain events in life that I consider normal and common, incorrectly assuming everyone else participates in them with the same amount as passion as I do. In recent years I have been made aware that I am a “music buff”: I own well over 800 CD’s (not iTunes albums, but actual discs). As well as a “movie connoisseur”: I’m not a guy that can just sit down and enjoy a stupid movie like White Chicks. I will read multiple reviews on all the movies currently playing at the theatre, then choose the top 2 or 3 and see them all in one afternoon.

 

When it comes to restaurants, I’m no different in regards to my premeditated snobbery towards those eateries that are sub-par in my book. Instant disqualifiers for a restaurant: it has a drive-thru, it has an obvious theme, it’s noisy, it’s expensive for no good reason/prices aren’t listed on the menu, it’s all fried food, it’s a buffet, it’s Mexican, it’s Chinese, I have to pay to park, the actual menu is greasy, the waitress’s name is Flo, and I can see the cook smoking a cigarette as he’s cooking the food, to name a few.

If I could go back in time and influence the culture of American dining in restaurants, I would do whatever it takes in order to eliminate the social acceptance and expectance regarding food servers so that in 2009 I wouldn’t have to participate in the subconsciously awkward world of Tipping. Of all the things I don’t enjoy doing, evaluating another person’s work ability is at the top of that list. So I definitely don’t want to do it while I’m paying to eat. But even so, I pretty much just tip everyone the same percentage anyway.

 

During the summer of 2005 as I was saving up money to move to Nashville, I was a waiter at Western Sizzlin’ (the South’s version of The Sizzler) where I learned what all goes into serving a table of adults who act like bratty children. Hearing annoying quotes like, “This steak is still mooing at me…”, “I didn’t order pickles on my hamburger!”, and “You got any FRESH coffee?” were all part of my daily routine. (All spoken with Southern accents for dramatic effect.) That experience causes me to be especially appreciative of my waiter when I am out at a restaurant.

But now as the one being served, the whole experience of interacting with the waiter puts me into what I call Game Show Host Mode. I act like everything the waiter does is magic trick, like bringing the menu, then the drinks (as I usually rip off the restaurant by ordering free water), then taking my order, taking away the menu, etc. My response: raising my eyebrows, nodding my head, and smiling too much after each accomplished action. So over the top.

 

In most other situations if I acted that way, I would deserve a “Punch Me in the Face” sign more than Spencer Pratt or Dane Cook. But the environment of the restaurant and the relationship between me and the waiter excuses my overly grateful and easily amused behavior.

What if I didn’t have to feel like I’m treating my waiter like a kid, needing my exaggerated approval and acknowledgement on every little thing he does? Better yet, what if America was like most other countries in the world and just flat out didn’t associate tipping with restaurants? But ultimately, a country only has the customs that its culture allows and depends on. So when it all comes out in the wash, our society openly accepts the frivolous head game we call Tipping.

 

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Bad Things, Man

There are a lot of “bad things” you can do and be, and for the most part, people will overlook it. Ironically, one of the few things I have found that our American society finds unforgivable and unacceptable is someone who is judgmental of others. Atlanta Braves pitcher John Rocker is a prime example. He had notable talent and a great career going for him. Then he opened his mouth.

In a 2000 interview with Sports Illustrated he revealed himself to be a racist, sexist, and “homophobe” by comments he made in just one paragraph. It cost him his career. Think of all the crimes that athletes have committed and walked away with just a slap on the wrist. But it was a judgmental mindset, regardless of his athletic ability, that cursed him.

Seinfeld star Michael Richards (“Kramer”) officially ruined his career in 2006 when he lost control of an audience at a comedy club while doing a stand-up routine, then began shouting racial slurs at the people he believed to be causing the disruption, in a desperate and pitiful attempt to gain control. This was captured on a cell phone, uploaded to YouTube, and the rest is history. His career will never survive this, despite his many public apologies.

John Rocker and Michael Richards are easy targets though. The annoying thing about it is every person alive today is judgmental of others, no matter how small the degree. There is a natural tendency to create somewhat of a list of degrees regarding “bad people”, or at least “people I’m better than”. Not that anyone wants to or means to consider ourselves better than other people, but the truth is, it happens everyday.

I realize there are several degrees of separation between gossiping about co-workers and being an open bigot, but where is the line drawn? Both examples involve a person publicly assessing either the private matters or character of another person. Both involve a person making an call that another person is somehow sub-par. At what point is it no longer innocent and harmless to judge another person?

The highly successful sitcom Everybody Loves Raymond had an episode in which the twin sons befriended a kid at school whose dad was a sanitation worker (a “garbage man”). The comedy of the episode was when Raymond’s wife acted uneasy when the “Garbage Man Dad” visited the household to pick up his son. The episode showed that secretly she looked down on garbage men, compared to other occupations like writers or high school teachers. Like the way people look at a truck driver differently than compared to a doctor, though both men work hard to support their families.

Many reality shows totally play on the concept of enticing its viewers to come back each week to watch how stupid a person is going to be. I think that’s why Dennis Rodman stayed as long as he did on The Apprentice: Donald Trump knew that viewers were annoyed by Dennis and would keep watching in hopes he would be fired on that episode. Maybe it’s the satisfaction in knowing that though we’re not perfect, or at least we’re not as messed up as “that person”.

I remember the pastor of my church, Mike Glenn, saying how when he meets a new person out on the golf course and Mike is asked what does for a living, the demeanor and vocabulary of the other person often changes instantly. Whereas the first 30 minutes of the game they revealed their true selves to Mike, anything after that was a different version.

To some degree, he must feel frustrated that he is seen as “the holy man”, the one others have to straighten up around. I’m sure to some degree he must be tired of being judged- so many people can’t see past his profession. But why do people react that way to the pastor of one of the biggest churches of the biggest city in Tennessee?

Maybe because they’re afraid they will be judged. What a paradox. In fear of being judged, they judge the pastor. They assume he looks down on them because they’re not “tight with Jesus”. The ultimate irony of it is that he doesn’t care that they just dropped the “f-bomb”. He genuinely just wants to be their friend.

People forget that Jesus was friends with prostitutes, beggars, and plenty of other people who had no future. From what I’ve heard, one of the biggest issues that atheists have with Christians is that at some point or many points in their lives, they had an experience where a Christian was judgmental towards them.

I think it’s weird that God leaves it up to faulty human beings that mess up everyday like everyone else (and also struggle with being judgmental) to show the rest of the world the love of God. If a person could be made perfect the moment they became a Christian, it would be much easier for non-believers to believe. But instead God chooses to use instruments that are often out of tune to play the music.

Sometimes when I’m driving home from work I get behind this car with a bumper sticker that says “Jesus, save me from your followers!” I’m always irritated at first when I see it. But I can relate. I wish Jesus would save me from myself sometimes.

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What Howard Gardner’s Theory of Multiple Intelligences Taught Me about Why I Have Such a Good Memory

In 1988 for Ms. Riddle’s 2nd grade reading class we had to write a poem telling about a time when we really wanted something for a long time and finally got it. I remember Susan Johnson writing about getting to go to the beach. And Diego Reynoso wrote about getting a pet dog. That was the general idea of the assignment. I, on the other hand, wrote a poem about how happy I was when my dad went to the True Value hardware store and bought an adapter so I could play my Atari games on the TV in my bedroom.

Ten years and 3 weeks ago I walked across the stage for my high school graduation. All seniors had been given a document from the principal listing the proper attire to wear underneath our gowns. We were clearly told to wear black shoes. The token rebel thing to do was to go barefoot. I, instead, chose to wear canary yellow Saucony tennis shoes and hold out a stick of Mentos candy to the audience as I crossed the stage. It’s simply what’s expected from the kid who was voted “One and Only” for the Senior Who’s Who.

 

One question I have consistently been asked throughout my lifetime is, “You just HAVE to be different, don’t you?” Assuming it must be true, I would always casually agree. But then two weeks ago my wife came back from one of her Master’s classes for Childhood Education and dropped some science on me. Having learned Howard Gardner’s Theory of Multiple Intelligence (1983), she told me that I am a “visual-linguistic learner”. That’s when it was officially confirmed: Yes, I HAVE to be different.

I have been hard-wired to seek out the road less travelled, every time. Not a rebel in the expected way, but a rebel in the fact I am prone to find a different perspective on everything I encounter in life. I was never the annoying kid in class who tried to argue with the teacher. That kid always annoyed me. But I was the kid who, when given a project, always ended up with the weirdest possible submission and was able to pull it off.

 

Noted, my long-term memory is often exceptionally unbelievable. In high school, many people were forced to be made aware of my obsession with 1980’s trivia, since I could correctly tell the year of any movie or song, my specialty being 1983. In college, most people who knew me were forced to be made aware that they could name any celebrity and I could accurately tell the height of that celebrity. I’m simply not much fun to play against in modern trivia board games like Scene It or Trivial Pursuit and being the first to solve the puzzle while watching Wheel of Fortune just comes natural.

And it turns out I’m not the only one. A quick visit to Wikipedia helped my life make a lot more sense:

 

“Verbal-linguistic Intelligence

This area has to do with words, spoken or written. People with high verbal-linguistic intelligence display a facility with words and languages. They are typically good at reading, writing, telling stories and MEMORIZING WORDS ALONG WITH DATES. They tend to learn best by reading, taking notes, listening to lectures, and discussion and debate. They are also frequently skilled at explaining, teaching and oration or persuasive speaking. Those with verbal-linguistic intelligence learn foreign languages very easily as they have high verbal memory and recall, and an ability to understand and manipulate syntax and structure. This intelligence is highest in writers, lawyers, philosophers, journalists, politicians, poets, and teachers.”

Being raised my whole life in the South, people from the North and out West have always questioned my lack of a Southern accent. Because my mom moved from Buffalo, NY when she was 14, I always assumed that neutralized me. But after realizing anyone who’s ever met my mom says she actually has one of the biggest Southern accents out there, I’ve recently come to terms with the truth there is another reason people think I’m from Pennsylvania or Ohio.

 

The reason: I am overly aware of how words are supposed to sound. I could never bring myself to say “Eh’ll seeh yuh nehxt Tuesdee, Eh reckin!” (“I’ll see you next Tuesday, I reckon!”) For me, that’s a sin. That’s breaking so many rules of pronunciation and is a threat to clear communication. I never realized I was so OCD about words and speech.

Speaking of communication, when I met my wife for the first time on October 5, 2006, it was her beauty that captured me from across the crowded lobby. Anytime I revisit that event with her she confirms it was because I was good at telling stories and entertaining her that caused a random new stranger like me to be able to steal her attention. (I purposely stood next to her as we waited in an hour long line- that’s how we met.) As we began dating four months later (to the day) and immediately fell in love thereafter, two particular things attracted her most to me: 1) I knew “who I was” and was confident in that, 2) She knew because of my random knowledge that we would never run out of things to talk about.

Not because I was suave and charming, but because my randomness of speech worked for me.

 

So thanks to Howard Gardner, it’s safe to say I’m not that weird after all. Actually, I am- but at least now I have been diagnosed. While I may be a bit of a prodigy at a few things, any talent I have in other fields is completely absent: Math, science, multi-tasking (driving while talking on a cell phone), and sports (except Corn Hole and Mario Kart Wii). Like by magnetic force, I am drawn to what is offbeat and untrendy.

This, has been my version of a Top 25 or a “Which Power Ranger Would You Be?” quiz.

The other intelligences…
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theory_of_multiple_intelligences

 

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The Real Friendship Police of Dallas, Texas

What if you put a siren on the top of your car with different colored lights than usual, like pink and yellow? Then you drive down the interstate, follow a car, flash your sirens, and pull the driver over.

You start walking towards the car window and the person driving the car begins to realize you’re not part of the normal police. The driver rolls down his window. You tell him that you are a member of the Friendship Police.

 

You tell him that you would like to make new friends. After all, it’s a big city and it can be hard to feel included. You propose that the two of you might be able to hang out sometime, like maybe shootin’ some hoops or even going to a game. You tell the driver to expect to find a new friend request on facebook when he gets home. He is not angry or upset, but is instead mutually excited to meet a new friend.

The Friendship Police. It’s completely practical. And a great way to make friends to increase your number of friends on facebook. People will be impressed.

 

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Deviled Eggs are the Sushi of the South East

There are really only two ways to get authentic deviled eggs. A) Go to a “covered dish” church supper. B) Go to a family reunion. Deviled eggs are a delicacy, the sushi of the South. The key is finding a Southern woman who is willing to not only take the time to prepare them, but who also has the appropriate deviled eggs dish plate that keeps them from sliding around and tampering with the integrity of their presentation. And of course, as any deviled egg connoisseur knows, without the red paprika sprinkled on top, they’re simply just boiled eggs.