Here comes the bill.  I have no trouble “wrestling” it from my sister, who sheepishly offers to get it next time.

            I look down at my credit card receipt.  “So, I should tip, what, 15% or so?”

            “I’d say more like 20%.  You don’t want to look cheap,” my sister replies, ever generous with other people’s money.

            “20%?  The service wasn’t that good!  She only checked on us once to see how the food was, and I had to ask her twice to get my coffee.  I think 15% would be generous.”

            “It doesn’t really matter what the service was like.  If you don’t tip well, next time she might bring you dishwater instead of coffee.”

            They don’t make great coffee, but it is better than dishwater, so I grudgingly leave a 20% tip.

            Upon looking up the word “gratuity” in the dictionary, I am surprised to learn that it is “something you give voluntarily or beyond obligation.”  When I look up “voluntary”, there is no mention of dishwater threats, so I’m starting to think something has gone awry with society’s reasons for tipping.

            Shouldn’t tipping be for service that goes above and beyond?  Apparently not.  Not only can the service be average and still merit a healthy tip; it can be unnecessary.  For instance, suppose I go to an upscale restaurant that has restroom attendants.  I had no idea that I am supposed to tip these people for handing me the right amount of paper towel in a timely manner.  If I decline her help and simply take two steps over to get it myself, I can save a dollar.  Heaven help me, though, if I need another paper towel to blot my lipstick, blow my nose, or wipe a spill on my dress.  She might hand me sandpaper as payment for my thrifty ways.

I feel that I am already tipping in a way because I am allowing these people to perform a service for me which I could have done myself.  I am capable of cooking for myself, but I choose to go out to eat.  I could go pick up my pizza, but I choose to have it delivered.  I could fill up my own gas tank, but I choose to let someone else do it.  Shouldn’t these people be happy that I am providing a job market for them by utilizing their commonplace skills?

If we are expected to tip for unnecessary services, why aren’t we expected to tip for vital ones?  I don’t tip a brain surgeon for managing to extract a tumor without harming my memory.  I don’t tip a pharmacist for giving me the right medication.  I don’t tip a lawyer for getting me an acquittal.  But should I?  Perhaps if I don’t, next time I’ll forget to take my medication, which would’ve given me hives anyway, and when I sue for medical malpractice, my lawyer will take a nap in court.

One vital service that does require tipping is calling for a tow truck.  Locking my keys in the car, running down the battery, and blowing a tire are not situations I can remedy myself.  Generally, I am already irritated by this disruption to my day.  My mood deteriorates from irritation to anger as I watch my “savior” fix my problem in under five minutes.  The real kicker, though, is when I hear him muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, “Wouldn’t want to break a nail.”  Despite the fact that my anger has now become full-blown rage, I will tip this man at least $5 for his services.  Why? If I don’t, he might “accidentally” shove a tool into my newly repaired tire, causing me to require his services yet again for a tow.  This, of course, means that I would have to tip him again.  Being cheap can be very costly.

As a person who resents having to tip, my biggest fear is getting married.  Waves of extreme possibilities flood my head.  If I don’t tip the band, they may refuse to play anything but polkas.  If I get cheap with the limo driver, I may not make it to the church on time.  The florist may claim that the only flowers in season are dandelions.  My photographer might take close ups of the pimple I tried to hide.  The baker may experiment with cayenne pepper in my cake.  The organist may break into the chorus of “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” as I walk down the aisle and the officiant might burst out laughing when I say “for richer or poorer.”  It’s enough to make me want to elope.

Here’s my problem: I may rant and rave about the injustice of tipping.  I may gain followers of my views and start a cult.  I may end up on Oprah one day because of my controversial fame.  At the end of the meal, however, I’ll tip my 15-20% like everyone else.  Why?  Because I can always drink dishwater at home.