I was involved in one position or another in restaurants in my journey.
Part of that journey was as a tipped employee.
I loved that position better than any I held afterwards, even after I ascended to the Executive Chef position in a starred French restaurant.
Why?
I was single and working in a major casino’s “whale room,” a gathering place for the Haves.
Money everywhere.
I made enough in my brief six-month stint there to be flagged, and later, audited and penalized, because I did not claim my tip money on my income taxes.
I thought I was really the shit in my pretty boy uniform, walking with at LEAST three hundred dollars per five-hour shift. On top of that, I was a member of the culinary union which provided a decent hourly wage. The culinary union was one of the unions which could close down the city.
By that, I mean that, we were in league with the Teamster’s Union, and if you know any history at all of Las Vegas, you know the Teamster’s controlled everything in that city.
I think in the entire five years I spent there, we only went on strike once, and as I recall, it lasted two days before management crumbled to our demands. We also threatened a walkout once in 1981, but got what we wanted at the bargaining table.
It was like the movie Cocoon.
I thought I’d never get sick, never get old, and never die.
I was wrong.
It would not be until seven years later in Santa Barbara that I was told by an attorney that my wages would be garnished to pay what ended up being a forty-thousand dollar assessment.
I had negotiated a sweet high-paying contract to be Executive Chef to the busiest coastal restaurant volume-wise, from San Franciso to San Clemente.
I was dead broke.
I had to move out of my nice condo and ended up ignominiously crashing at my Sous Chef’s place. Not even at his place, but behind it. In a camper shell. Surrounded by weeds and the waste of my friends’ dog.
How the mighty had fallen.
THAT is when I met Karen.
I have spoken about my disregard for money, but tipping is a whole different subject.
Depending on where on this planet you are from, the practice of tipping, or “giving a little something extra”varies.
In the United States, it is our custom to tip for good service.
I understand the people who NEVER tip regardless of how great the food was, how awesome the service was, or how great a time they had.
They are called douchebags.
Of the highest order.
I understand not everyone has the empathy I do for food service workers.
I had a nice big breakfast after I got my car washed this morning and I was in a booth and I could hear some chatter coming from the closed-off dining room where waitresses were rolling their silverware.
They were both saying about how slow it had been all week and how this or that bill was coming due…
I’m certainly nowhere near being a wealthy man, but I tipped a couple extra bucks for no other reason than it made me feel good.
Stay well.
