You know me by now that often you get a warts and all version of real life events from me, I don't try and sugar coat it or myself, and I often fear the wrath of your judgement, although you're all too kind to actually let rip at me. So in the hope this sentiment continues, here's another... and I know The Sister will be rubbing her hands in glee, I can always rely on her...
So shoot me, sometimes I get a little...hmmm..."relaxed" in the tipping department and then have the post-bad-tip anxiety, where I know in a heart beat, that the person whose hand I have tucked a fold of bills into, knows from years of experience that there is only one bill folded many times to give the illusion of thickness and many'ness (yup, made up that one). But I know that it is too late to say, "oh and here's a little more" and that I can't dive back into my wallet to correct my meanness. Call it the antipodean in me, but on my first ill-fated trip to the USA, I had a "sodd'em, they'll never see me again" kind of attitude.
There I've said it.
Sometimes I didn't tip all the periphery staff involved in the hotel experiences. And I'm not necessarily mean spirited or cheap, just naive. I mean are you supposed to tip both the man at the valet desk who asks the driver to bring your car down as well as the driver, or can you just give them the one tip hoping they'll share?
On our last trip to the States this year, I was the picture of generosity, trying to put right my wrongs. But still, sometimes you could feel the daggers, after a smaller than expected tip has been given to the porter/housekeeper/extrapillowdeliverer/poolperson/barstaff/assortedvaletpeople. I felt like saying - "I'm taking baby steps here people, throw me a bone!" or "I'm not made of $1 notes". But still I don't as I may be neglecting to tip those people who listen to my rants.
I reward where deserved and I tip where I should. I bet anyone whose been for dinner with me is now furiously trying to recount my tipping history, or those who I'm about to dine out with...
On the other hand.
Babysitters have a joyous time at my expense. I am the picture of generosity having adopted Kevin Costners Field of Dreams philosophy with a little artistic license - "If you pay them, they will come". And many a babysitter has enjoyed my miscalculations of 4.5 x$15 after I have indulged in those extra and unnecessary glasses of wine before coming home.
Although after a disastrous start to a much anticipated meal out last night, when my babysitter texted to ask what night she was supposed to be sitting for me and got a prompt "in 10 minutes time honey" reply from me, which had me driving like a madwoman on my quiet suburban streets then giving her my signature cold treatment as I drove her to my house (that deviation from my tightly orchestrated plan cost me a hairstyle Missy), I can promise you that she got paid to the cent. No rounding up going on there, even after the many wines.
Performance = rewards Peeps, at least it does in my world.
Guilty of paying up or paying down?
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