I am a good tipper.
I was taught by my mom that you did not accept service from someone without compensating them. We always had money to go out AND tip for services rendered.
And we weren’t rich by any means.
Of the many jobs I worked in my life, it’s hard to beat musician, bartender, and server in a fine-dining establishment. Pretty much in that order.
Wonderful job conditions.
Did I mention beautiful women?
Landscapers deserve a good tip if they do an exceptional job: tight edging, trees, bushes, and hedges expertly trimmed.
We don’t need landscapers anymore. Our little house has a small front yard and the back yard will be filled up with a pool coming next spring.
I really hate when people bitch and moan about tipping someone who is already making good money.
Like a stripper.
It is easy to tell right away whether the movements are indeed money-making or not.
Limo drivers don’t make a huge hourly rates unless they actually own a few limos themself.
But you still tip them, and well, if they gave you the hook-up.
I refuse to tip doctors.
Won’t even go there.
You know the joke about putting Dracula in charge of the blood bank?
Me as a bartender.
I was a mechanic, fast and income-generating, but I kept getting close to the worst kind of women.
And I was always thirsty.
I used to include gambling winnings in my stash of cash, as well as my tips from the High Roller Room where I worked as a Wait Captain. I typically walked with five to ten c-notes a night.
Best job I ever lost.
When I got lost on a back road in southern Ohio, I had three people offer assistance. All three were servers at restaurants.
They would not accept one nickel from me.
In my early food service career I worked in a national coffee house chain where the counter customers would barrage us with their worst:
“Might as well, can’t dance.” (LAME-O)
I don’t think I ever ran out of money when I lived in Las Vegas, but I ran through girls with the patience to put up with my very selfish lifestyle.
It’s true that you lose all respect for money in Vegas. Stacks of multi-colored chips on my dresser were just room décor after a while.
When I was going through my hardcore gambling stage (pretty much in the first two years I moved there) the stickmen at the crap tables did well by me. Certain select Blackjack dealers at Caesar’s and The Flamingo were able to send their kids to private schools thanks to the time I spent at their moms’ table over time
Tip when earned.