Should Foreigners Have the Tip Added Automatically?

A couple of restaurants in Burlington, Vermont are in hot water ("It's not hot enough," yelled an old lady who brought in her own tea bag.) after they were caught adding the gratuity to the check of a family they assumed to be French-Canadian. Two different restaurants added the tip to the bill for the family but it turns out that they are actually residents of Vermont who just spoke French. The family was none too pleased.

Burlington did some kind of big tourism push to the fine folks of Quebec (Québecois? Queebs? Queckers?) in an effort to win their tourism dollars. The Canadians saw the commercials and hopped, skipped and jumped over the border for a quick a getaway to The Green Mountain State, but it turns out that plenty of the restaurant servers are like, "No thanks, I'm good" when it comes to the tips they are leaving. The Vermont family complained and had the tip removed but what about the next French-speaking family who dines out in Vermont who really is from Canada? Are servers supposed to be alright with a shitty 5% tip? Are Canadians bad tippers?

The servers in Quebec are making $8.35 an hour while Vermont servers are making $4.10 an hour. Maybe the servers in Canada aren't as dependent on tips as Vermont servers are so maybe the tipping isn't as crucial up north. I find it hard to believe that so many Canadians who live that close to the U.S. border are completely unfamiliar with the tipping customs in our country. Is it possible that some foreigners are feigning ignorance just so they can skip out on the tip? I think it is not only possible, but very likely.

Working in New York City, I serve customers from all over the world. It's hard to not cringe when I hear a foreign accent asking me what the specials are. No, I don't want to generalize that every single customer from another country is a bad tipper, but very often it is the case. Don't these tourists read guide books before coming to the United States? Whenever I go on vacation, I do. I will be going to France in two weeks (home to the world's surliest servers and maybe a place I will end up staying forever just so I can feel "at home."), and I have been studying guide books for a month now to make sure I understand how to act in their country. I do not want to come across as the Ugly American and I will do my best to fit in and tip correctly. According to guide books, the service charge in Paris restaurants is added to the bill, so you only leave a nominal tip in appreciation of good service. Tell me, Parisians, is this true? I can only assume that the guide book is correct. Could it be that the guide books that United States tourists are reading are misinforming them? I wonder what the books say in regards to tipping. I hope it says something like "Servers in the U.S. expect a tip for a job well done. 15-20% of the bill is standard, more if they did an outstanding job or less if the service was less than exemplary." For all I know, it says. "Servers in the U.S. wait tables for the pure joy of it. Their hourly wage is more than adequate and they are pleased with a a dollar or even a verbal 'good job.' In some cases, feel free to leave Bible quotes or coupons. They love that."

Generalizing how a group of people tip is great big Pandora's Box that once opened can never be closed. It can easily go from a discussion about tipping to an argument about race and I do not want to go there. I have said it before and I will say it again: I try to treat every table the same so that if I get stiffed I know it was because of them and not me. You will hear plenty of servers complain about the crap tip they got from the four-top of black women but did that server automatically give them crap service because they assumed the tip would be bad? Possibly. But haven't we all gotten great tips from someone who we didn't expect to get one from? Conversely, we have all gotten horrible tips from someone that we thought was going to leave at least 20%. Waiting tables is like a slot machine. You never know what you're going to get, but it all evens out in the end.

But back to Burlington, Vermont: should the restaurants be adding the gratuity to French-speaking tables? I say no. If you're going to add the tip automatically to some tables, it has to be on all tables. Otherwise, it's just racial profiling and who has time to racially profile when there is coffee to make and bread baskets to fill?

I have gotten bad tips from French people.  I have also been stiffed by French people. It's the way of the waiter world. When I am in France, I will do my best to tip accordingly but if I fuck it up, I feel like it's okay. They probably hate me as soon as I sit down just like I would hate them if they sat in my station. I expect the only difference would be that I would pretend to like them while the French waiter will look down at me and openly mutter with disgust, "Stupid, Americain, pig." Seriously, I might love it there and apply for a job at le Pain Quotidien in downtown Paris and serve French Toast and French Fries all the live long day.



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Bonjour, French Bitch

Sometimes a blog posting is hard to come up with. I scratch my head and ponder the possibilities and every so often I draw a blank. On the other hand, every once in a while a topic drops into my lap like manna from Heaven and I don't even have to think about it. Today's posting is brought to you by the Parisian bitch who sat in my station last night. I don't know what her name is so I will refer to her as Fifi le Douche.

When people come into the club, they are given a seating pass which tells hem where they are to be seated for the show. We escort them to their seat and then expect them to stay there, but Fifi needed some super glue on her ass last night because she was hop skippin' and jumpin' all over the damn place. What the customers don't get is that it's imperative for them to stay in the seat we assign to them because our totals have to match the totals of the host so that the performer knows exactly how many people were in the audience because that is how their pay is based. The more people they have in the audience, the more they can make. When people move all the fuck around it makes it difficult to ensure that all of the totals match. Get it? Simple, right? Fifi didn't get that. I went up to table 2 to take an order and Fifi coos at me that she is not sitting here really. She is "seating over zere" but she is just visiting this table. Fine. I go to her correct table to get her seating pass to write down her order and she asks for a suavignon blanc. Because she's French, you know. Two minutes later she is walking round the room and she comes up to me to ask where her wine is. Listen, le bitch, the bartender has to fucking pour it first, chill le fuck out. She wasn't even in her seat so how am I supposed to know where to put it anyway? I took her wine to her and the show started.

Fifteen minutes later, the other server tells me that table 1 wanted a Diet Coke (Coke Light, whatever) and he took it to her. Once again Fifi shows she has not the patience to wait for her server. She accosts anyone with an apron. At the end of the show, she of course wasn't at her table. She had floated off somewhere, so I placed her check on the table and went on with my business. About thirty minutes later, she was the only one who hadn't paid her bill yet so I went to find her. She was at the front of the club parlez vous Francaisin' to someone. I handed her the bill and told her I would be back in a few minutes to pick it up. Two minutes later she comes up to me with the check and says, "Excuse me, but I need to take care of this right away because I must leave." Pardon moi, but after the check sat on your table for half a fucking hour, now you're ready to leave and you act like I'm the one who is holding you up? At this point, all I wanted to do was slap this bitch with a piece of french toast, cram a french fry up her ass and then cover her with french dressing and say au revoir. Her tip was about ten percent which is spot on for the average French tourist. Fifi le Douche did a fine job of living up to every stereotype in the book. Au revoir, Fifi le Douche. Bon Voyage. Fuck off.

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I Was Stiffed by a French Bank

What is it with foreigners and tipping? We all know that the tipping culture in the United States is vastly different than in Europe. I agree that the amount of tipping in this country is overwhelming. Really? The kid at Tasti D-Lite expects me to tip him? And so does the girl at the grocery store? But I would think that every guide book that is sold in Europe has a section on tipping in restaurants, yet so many tourists play dumb when it comes down to paying a few extra bucks. Observe the $181.76 credit care receipt that I was given a few weeks ago and see the big fat nothing left in the tip line. And no, there was no cash tip. And no bus boy took it. She was French. But what gets me is that she has lived here in New York City for who knows how fucking long and she is still trying to use that tired old "I'm not from around here" excuse.

When the lady handed me her Black American Express card, I knew she was rich. The requirements for those cards are staggering: a $2,500 annual fee, $5,000 initiation fee and then you have to spend a minimum of $250,000 a year on it and there is no limit. This lady could go buy a jet, an island and if she knew the right phone number to call she could even purchase a small child who will do most excellent work in bathroom cleaning and laundry. I swiped the big heavy metallic card and took the receipts back to her table. I few minutes later when she got up to leave, I walked by the table to pick up the merchant copy. On the table was her copy, my copy and the original receipt. There was no signature. And no tip. I found her in the lobby.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I think you forgot to sign your credit card copy."

She spun around and hissed at me. "No I deed not. I signed zee copy."

"I don't think so," I said as I held two blank credit card receipts.

"Well, I signed somezing, I deed."

"No, I don't think so. There's no signature on either one of these receipts."

"Yes, I deed sign."

I looked at the itemized receipt that had a scribble on it. "Is that your signature?" I asked pointing to the chicken scratch that I thought was just that doodle that we all do to get the pen to start writing.

"Yes! See? I deed sign somezing."

"Oh, I see. Well, I need your signature on the credit card receipt."

"Why?"

Why? Does this bitch expect me to think that she has a fucking Black American Express card and she doesn't understand that she has to fucking sign the receipt when she uses it? I inhaled. "Well, I need the signature on the receipt that has your total and your credit card information on it. So if you could just sign this one-"

She interrupted me. "Well, what are you going to do wiz zee one zat I already signed??"

In my head I said, "Bitch I don't care what you do with the fucking itemized receipt that you scrawled your chicken scratch ass signature on, it's yours. Just sign the fucking credit card receipt and put a goddamn tip on it." In actuality I said, "You can keep that one for your records, ma'am."

She grabbed the pen out of my hand and signed her $181.67 credit card receipt and skipped right over the line for a tip. She put it into my hand. "Is zat okay??"

I looked at the empty line where it should have said $36.00 and said, "I guess so. Good night."

She spun back around completely fine with stiffing me even though I gave them perfectly fine service and never an ounce of attitude. Well, not until the very end anyway when it became clear that she was a royal French rich bitch who had no intention of tipping me in the first place. According to the name on the credit card she used, she's a bank. I guess the rich stay rich by saving 20% every time they go out to a place that has servers. Just think. If she goes out every night and stiffs a server on a check for $181, she can save $13,140 a year. Hopefully she uses that money for something good like the annual dues on her black fucking Am Ex card.

I sucked it up and accepted that i made no money from her rich ass. And no, I did not just add a tip. I may hate being a waiter but you know what I hate even more? Getting fired and then arrested for credit card theft and having my ass sent to prison where there are mean people who make The Bitchy Waiter seem like a sweet old lady. Plus, I don't know if there is Internet in prison and that would totally suck.


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Je Suis Un Bitch

Sometimes a blog posting is hard to come up with. I scratch my head and ponder the possibilities and every so often I draw a blank. On the other hand, every once in a while a topic drops into my lap like manna from Heaven and I don't even have to think about it. Today's posting is brought to you by the Parisian bitch who sat in my station last night. I don't know what her name is so I will refer to her as Fifi le Douche.

When people come into the club, they are given a seating pass which tells hem where they are to be seated for the show. We escort them to their seat and then expect them to stay there, but Fifi needed some super glue on her ass last night because she was hop skippin' and jumpin' all over the damn place. What the customers don't get is that it's imperative for them to stay in the seat we assign to them because our totals have to match the totals of the host so that the performer knows exactly how many people were in the audience because that is how their pay is based. The more people they have in the audience, the more they can make. When people move all the fuck around it makes it difficult to ensure that all of the totals match. Get it? Simple, right? Fifi didn't get that. I went up to table 2 to take an order and Fifi coos at me that she is not sitting here really. She is "seating over zere" but she is just visiting this table. Fine. I go to her correct table to get her seating pass to write down her order and she asks for a suavignon blanc. Because she's French, you know. Two minutes later she is walking round the room and she comes up to me to ask where her wine is. Listen, le bitch, the bartender has to fucking pour it first, chill le fuck out. She wasn't even in her seat so how am I supposed to know where to put it anyway? I took her wine to her and the show started.

Fifteen minutes later, the other server tells me that table 1 wanted a Diet Coke (Coke Light, whatever) and he took it to her. Once again Fifi shows she has not the patience to wait for her server. She accosts anyone with an apron. At the end of the show, she of course wasn't at her table. She had floated off somewhere, so I placed her check on the table and went on with my business. About thirty minutes later, she was the only one who hadn't paid her bill yet so I went to find her. She was at the front of the club parlez vous Francaisin' to someone. I handed her the bill and told her I would be back in a few minutes to pick it up. Two minutes later she comes up to me with the check and says, "Excuse me, but I need to take care of this right away because I must leave." Pardon moi, but after the check sat on your table for half a fucking hour, now you're ready to leave and you act like I'm the one who is holding you up? At this point, all I wanted to do was slap this bitch with a piece of french toast, cram a french fry up her ass and then cover her with french dressing and say au revoir. Her tip was about ten percent which is spot on for the average French tourist. Fifi le Douche did a fine job of living up to every stereotype in the book. Au revoir, Fifi le Douche. Bon Voyage. Fuck off.