I’m a good tipper. As long as the service is good, I generally tip 20% because after a glass or two of wine, the math on 20% is easier than figuring out 15%. (Yes, I can be that lazy.)
I understand the business model for restaurant wait-staff–low wages are compensated for by customer tips–but I’ve never liked it. It’s unreliable and it’s inherently unfair to the back-of-the-house workers. Also, different shifts receive different pay (lunch crowds tip less than evening diners), and different nights can bring vastly different take-home pay for staff who depend on tips. A couple weeks of low patronage can mean a waiter might not earn enough to make the rent.
In short, it’s a centuries-old scheme that depends on the kindness of strangers. It is flawed from the get-go, and I would be pleased as Punch if we tossed it into the rubbish bin of social history.
Here in Seattle, it seems we’re preparing to do exactly that. Or, at least, we’re preparing to give it a serious makeover. (more…)
The spruce stood tall, a shadowed cone against the cold and dawning morn, a giant sentinel overlooking the crossroads along my route to work. The bus rocked like a ship in rough seas as it rattled into the intersection, fatigued metal complaining, whirring heater blasting air like a blow-dryer, but as we passed the ancient spruce, above the din, I heard music.
Seattle is quiet.
It was still dark when I turned the corner and saw the woman lying on the ground. It was outside the transit station, and a few other early-morning commuters had slowed to see what was going on. Shared glances communicated our mutual concern for the young woman spread-eagled on the sidewalk. One man leaned over, peering down into her face.
I hope you all had a fine holiday. I had a fine one, myself.
On clear, cold afternoons, when the sky is a robin’s egg blue and the sun has just melted the frost off the shaggy lawns, I hear the machinery of modern yard maintenance fire up. Mowers, blowers, strimmers, and edgers set up a whirring, sputtering rumble that blankets the neighborhood as homeowners take advantage of a rainless November day.
The week started badly, and ended with a… What? It’s only Thursday?
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 