Pony Up. A Buck a Head.

“Pony up. A buck a head,” Stacy would proudly call to everyone at the table, gesturing for us like she was dealing poker, not tipping at the end of a meal. She saw herself as the big tipper and proudly set the ones underneath a water glass as we stood from the table, oblivious when I slipped a ten into the stack. She thought she was making sure everyone tipped their fair share and ensuring the server didn’t go unnoticed or untipped.

It made me want to gag.

Ironically, I’ve never waited tables. I don’t know how many times I argued that tipping is a percentage, not a head count. It never seemed to click in her mind that her tip reflected upon her as a person. She grew up on “a buck a head,” and it was gospel. So I tipped for her – secretly – because servers deserved to see her heart, not her math.

She was one of the kindest and most giving people I have ever met.

She was one of the kindest and most giving people I have ever met. She’d fix you a meal at two a.m. if you were hungry and give you the last dollar out of her pocket if you needed it, regardless of your circumstances and no matter the reason for your need. I loved her, and I miss her.

I tried and tried to get the message through that servers made less than minimum wage and that the majority of their income came through their tips. My reasoning just never got through to her. So, I quietly tipped behind her back when we went out together. It was important to me for the women and men who served her in restaurants to think better of her than to believe she thought so little of them—because that wasn’t the case at all.

Calculating Tippers

Some are a lot worse than Stacy. I once saw a man fan out twenty one dollar bills on the table. “I’m taking away one dollar every time I’m disappointed with the service.” Then he removed a dollar with smug judgment for the smallest infraction the server made.

He wielded his money as a weapon. He used it to demean the server by trying to place them in a role of servitude (which is different than a role of service) with the mere implication that money gives power, power gives dominance, and dominance gives worth; tried to undermine the authority of the management by monopolizing the time and attention of that server who had multiple tables; and tried to own the server through bribery.

I’d rather start twenty and add bills for each kindness. But even that risks becoming a power trip the moment the server catches on, but at least it benefits the server and not the power-tripping customer.

Anyway, I know there are many philosophies on tipping, and many reasons why people tip the way they do—and don’t—and in all honesty, that isn’t what this post is even about. It’s about how I accidentally stole a server’s tip by trying to be kind.

Mourning Breakfast

At breakfast this morning at my favorite restaurant, with my favorite person, with my new favorite dish, a father and two sons came in. The sight tugged on my heartstrings. I had already given out one of my Island of Kindness slips of paper and two $5 bills (one $5 toward someone’s bill and the other $5 plus the piece of paper with the explanation to the customer). When I saw this family, I grabbed another Island of Kindness slip and two more five-dollar bills.

Now, just to be clear: I make ends meet. I have enough in savings to make it for a couple of months if I lose my job. I’m not in a position to throw money around, but I feel very strongly about this. It is a conviction and a ministry. I am not frivolous, I don’t spend money randomly, and I don’t go out to eat very often, and generally with a coupon. Giving away an extra twenty bucks in one morning a lot. But it felt right.

I was getting ready to pay when a man at another table caught my attention. I struck up a conversation with a couple at another table. While I chatted with Rucker and Betty (lovely couple) the family got up to pay their bill.

The restaurant has the policy that the server is the one who has to ring a customer out, so I watched her hand them the Island of Kindness note and a five-dollar bill. I watched the father read it. I had hand-written a note on this one, which I don’t normally do, but again, it seemed important to me to do. The note explained a little of why I chose them and invited them to my blog.

…a beacon of my failure…

As I finished talking with Rucker and Betty, the father and his sons walked out, and I saw the five-dollar bill sitting in front of the server at the cash register, tipped up onto its edge, glaring at me like a beacon of my failure. I knew exactly what had happened.

I jumped up and over to the register before she could walk away. “Did he leave the second five as his tip?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t know,” she said, trying not to look me in the eyes. I knew immediately that’s what he had done. I grabbed another five out of my pocket and dropped it in front of her. She tried to tell me it was all right and blah, blah, blah…

Stolen Tip

But it wasn’t all right. I had stolen her tip.

I wonder if I’ve done that to other servers. How many other servers? I’ve been doing this for almost two months now. I wonder if my desire to do something really nice ended up working against the very people I was asking to deliver the message? Have I been hurting people I really care about? Worse yet, have none of them been willing to tell me that they have suffered for my proud desire to push an agenda of kindness onto others.

My heart is broken. He didn’t do it to be mean, or to cheat, really. He saw an opportunity and used it. I was trying to present him with an opportunity and impetus to pay it forward; instead, he saw an opportunity to save some money.

They say no good deed goes unpunished. This was my unintended consequence.

Now What?

That same server needs better shoes. She has plantar fasciitis and needs shoes that are designed to help someone who is on her feet all day long on concrete. I’ve been trying to find a way to fund those shoes for her. She can’t afford it. I can’t afford it all at once.

I want to continue my Island of Kindness—it’s important to me. But I don’t want to steal server tips. Maybe there’s a compromise.

Moving Forward

I hate to do it, but perhaps I have to take a middle ground and modify my approach. Instead of two five-dollar bills, I’ll put one toward someone’s meal and then one toward her shoe fund every time I go out. Maybe I’ll modify my Island of Kindness paper to say something like:

“I know you don’t know me, but I just put $5 toward your meal. I’m raising money for a server who needs better shoes, so I’m putting another $5 in a fund called Shoes for T. When I raise $140, I’m buying the G-Dfyer shoes at the QR code below. If you’d like to know more or to help with $5, let your server know. Visit the Continuum of Kindness at www.continuumofkindness.com.”

After I finish with that campaign, I’ll find another. Then another. This time, paying it forward has a destination. And I know we’ll get there—five bucks at a time.