I guess fifty or a hundred years ago, the American Dream was all about owning your own land, getting an education, and making a pile of money. This dream has changed for many Americans, either because they already have all that stuff, or because they never will. It's an evolving dream, much like real dreams, where people you know and love morph into monsters and you pull an AK-47 out of your wallet and blow their heads off. But I digress.
My point is that I lived the American Dream just last night. And it was beautiful. From my first bite of perfectly broiled, bleeding rare Prime Rib with freshly-grated horseradish, I felt a very strong desire to stand and pledge allegiance to the flag. Unfortunately, there are no American flags in Ruby River steakhouse--just cowboy boots and paintings of people with actual sunglasses glued to their faces. Practically the same thing, but not something I feel entirely comfortable pledging.
Then there was the jacketed potato, with butter, sour cream, and chives. And the perfectly-baked sourdough bread. Where else in the world can your average citizen experience this kind of perfect society, where a person can just drive down to the local steakhouse and plunk down some money for a pound of meat plus sides, gorge themselves almost to the point of throwing up, and then waddle out to the car and drive home listening to Jelly Roll Morton on the radio? Not Ethiopia, I'm guessing. Not Panama. Not Yugoslavia. This, my friends, is the Promised Land. This is the country God loves above all others. Sure a few of its people can't afford food or housing, but have you ever tasted the stuff they serve in some of those homeless shelters? It's pretty good, too. So there's no room for complaint in this country, I think.
This brings me to my next thought (um, complaint), which I've been stewing about ever since Nemesis had the ugly encounter with the shuttle driver.
T.I.P.S.= To Insure Prompt Service. In my opinion, it should be T.I.P.P.S., with the second "p" representing the word "polite." Anyway. I'm thinking of handing out a little card as I'm seated in a restaurant that will cover the following points, including my definition of a tip:
1. I tip 20 percent. This means you can actually give me the service I deserve, instead of assuming that because this is Utah, I will not hand you money for free at the end of my meal. The service I deserve will not include the following:
a) You sitting down at my table to chat.
b) You calling me, or anyone in my party "guys."
c) You stopping by my table every thirty seconds to ask "how we're all doing," or "is everything still tasting okay?" I would also prefer questions that were not worded in such a way that the answer can only be what you want it to be.
d) You trying to sell me a bloomin' onion or grilled portobello or mixed drink, with the obvious intent of increasing my bill, which would then increase your tip--if I was going to give you one. Which I am. See above.
2. When you do stop by my table (once or twice during the meal), I would like to feel as though you were genuinely concerned about me and my meal. I would prefer that you did not look over at the next table while speaking, or talk to me as you run from one end of the establishment to another. Eye contact, if you're comfortable with it, is expected. If I have a legitimate concern, i.e., the hot potato soup you spilled on my lap is still sitting there burning my legs, or the chef forgot to cook my vegetables, that concern should be addressed with a heck of a lot more than, "Oh. Sorry."
3. You should know what every dish on the menu tastes like and have the ability to converse intelligently about it. I'm not interested in hearing, when I ask your opinion on a meal I'm about to spend twenty dollars on, "Um, I've never had that. I don't like spinach. But I'm sure it's good. Everything here is good."
4. I realize that my husband would have "I'm cheap! Deal with it." tattooed on his forehead if our Church leaders had not come out against tattooing. This means he has a "look" which may frighten you into thinking he will walk out without tipping. Allow me to again refer you to #1 above. I always add up the tips for that very reason. You may see a scuffle at the table when the bill arrives. Ignore it. Everything will turn out okay in the end, I promise.
And another thing. Why is it that we tip people after they've served us, when the whole idea behind the tip was to get them to do it right? It seems like we should be handing them some cash up front, so they know who to cater to, and who to ignore. "Here's a little something To Insure Prompt, Polite Service, honey. There's lots more where this came from, if you go to the dance with me. I mean, do the job right."
But I've noticed that in truly classy restaurants, this is not an issue. Truly classy servers treat everyone well, and don't act like the whole thing is a burden that they're probably not going to be adequately compensated for anyway, so might as well get through the night with as little inconvenience to themselves as possible.
Last week, after the General R.S. meeting, my sister-in-law and I went over to the Garden restaurant at the top of the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. Breathtaking view, fantastic service, and they even served us raspberry lemonade in the lobby while we waited the ninety or so minutes to be seated. Sure, we got the table by the kitchen, with a view of an under-construction building, but our server was so nice we couldn't complain. Understated, polite, prompt, and not pushy at all. He treated us with respect and dignity. Never called us "guys." And he didn't even know what we were going to give him in the end. Given the number of women who were there from the meeting, I'd say the odds were not so good that he'd get anything. But he treated us as if we were going to give him a fifty-dollar bill at the end of our meal. The food wasn't that great (except for the creme brulee, which I highly recommend), and the bill ended up being about half what it was at Ruby River. And yet, here was a young man who understood the meaning of the word "server." I commend him. May he receive 30 percent tips ever after.
And to Brooke of Ruby River, who found herself holding a much undeserved ten dollar bill after we walked out last night, I hope you learned something. People who eat here are generally Americans. That means they have tons of money to hand over to you voluntarily, if you do it right. Study that little card, and maybe next time things will work out even better. If you see me standing at my table and putting my hand over my heart, you'll know you've arrived. God bless the USA.
6 comments:
My parents went out to eat recently (this is not in Utah). The restaurant they went to was a little particular---the waiters and waitresses had their own business cards. That's the kind of service they give you---so good that you need their business card afterwards.
After my parents dined there, they paid the bill and left. When my mom was going over the receipt, she realized that my dad did the math wrong and tipped the waitress 40%. Her service was good, but 40%?? I've told them that no matter how good the service and the food were, they can never go back to that restaurant and waitress, because if they do, and they only tip 30%, she'll be devastated and try to figure out all night long what she did wrong.
You were at the Garden last week? YOU WERE AT THE GARDEN LAST WEEK? I went there too, right after the R.S. mtg. You know, you really have no business wandering around without a sign on you that says, "I'm daltongirl." And yes, I know, I have no business not having one on me that says, "I'm texmom."
I would've laughed and cried at meeting you there. Drat.
Ab.
So.
Lutely.
I eat out often and I am a 25-30% tipper for really great service. Unfortunately, for really poor service, I end up leaving 10%.
The problem is this--if I leave 10% for really poor service and everyone else in Utah is leaving 10% tip for good service, doesn't that send the wrong message to the server? Do they think that makes them good servers?
I still leave 25-30% for outstanding service, but for poor service--I shiny nickel and a note.
True story.
I saw this tipping etiquette guy on TV once, who said that if the service is bad, tip 15% and send a letter. He said that one shouldn't, under any circumstances, tip less than 15%. I can't remember why. Maybe he was from Utah.
I usually tip 20% unless the service is really bad, and then I do 15%. I never send a letter. But I figure if the service is bad, maybe that's because the server has lost faith in ever getting anything out of their lousy job. I think that if they get a good tip, they'll think, "Hey! Maybe I should start working at this!" I'm probably on crack. I don't think I am, but I suppose I could be breathing in the leftover fumes from the meth lab next door. I don't know.
I heard something on tipping etiquette that said if you don't leave a tip, you should talk to the manager on the way out to explain why the service was so poor.
True story:
During the summer, Ambrosia and I went to a Chinese restaurant. We thought it would be easiest for her to pay the full bill and me to pay her back later. So the next day, with cash in hand, I asked her how much she tipped so that I could give her exactly half. But we were both horrified to realize that she had completely forgotten to tip! So I said, "We. Have. To. Go. Back." So we hopped in her car and went back to the restaurant. It's small, and our waitress is the only waitress, so I found her as soon as we got in, made up some story about us being confused about who was paying the tip only to realize later that neither of us had, gave her her tip money, and then asked if she would serve us lunch again. Remembered to tip her that time.
Then, for the rest of the summer, brought many, many of my coworkers to the restaurant, from whom she received many, many tips. Poor lady.
I'm amazed that all of you can do such great math. I have a problem, and that is that I will never ever take the time or energy to figure out what percent tip I'm giving. So I do the only sane thing: I give way too much. The closest yet my wife and have have come to fighting was one time at Applebees' when we spent $5 and I tried to tip $5. She tips 15%, 20% if the server is really good. She is smart. I am stupid. She didn't appreciate my attempt at a 100% tip, and rightly so. All I thought I was giving was a $5 tip. I don't do percents. Anyway, now I give the server the card, and when the bill comes back I hand it to my wife and forget about it. We're less feisty and less poor because of it.
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