Your Restaurant Tipping Practices???

Yahoo ran a piece called, Banker's Insulting Waitress Tip Incites Warfare Between The 1% And The 99%.

You can read about it here:

http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/trending-now/banker-insulting-tip-incites-class-warfare-between-1-164624882.html

According to one little bit of info I found during a Google frenzy, more than 85% of us have left a lousy tip to punish waiters whose service wasn't up to snuff. I don't necessarily have a problem with that, though I personally won't tip less than 20%. That's my minimum, "man-you-were-having-an-off-day" tip.

I always leave 20% and round up. When I can leave more, I do.

Waiting tables is a HARD gig. It's stressful. It's exhausting. It's too often demeaning. Hunger tends to bring out the worst in people. TIP YOUR SERVERS PROPERLY.

Lately I've heard a lot of grumbling about the practice of tipping. Some people resent the hell out of restaurants for not paying their servers enough to live on, and there's an argument to be made there. But as long as servers get paid $3.00 an hour, I'm going to do my part--and then some--to make up for people like The Wealthy Banker in the story above.

Serenity NOW.

Despite the fact that I have not waited tables in about 13 years, OH MY GOSH HOLY CRAP HOW I WANT TO SPILL SOMETHING ON THIS MAN.

Something hot.

AND SPICY.

And red.

AND SAUCY.

And then when he asks for extra napkins? I'll say, OH! I'M SO SORRY! WE ARE OUT OF NAPKINS! I can't believe it! Me! Spilling the last of the hot spicy red saucy sauce in your lap and not having a napkin to wipe it up with? Why, I bet you won't even leave me a decent tip now!

Oh wait.

That's right.

YOU WEREN'T GOING TO ANYWAY.

I FORGOT.

Grr.

That wasn't very charitable of me.

I don't know why I let myself get so riled up about the acts of strangers. (Especially the ones that aren't directed at me.) I should just let it go. The man is clearly misinformed. Not all waiters can just go get a high-paying job if they want to. I assume that's what he means when he refers to "A Real Job."

If we made it the restaurant's responsibility to pay waiters more, the cost of our meals would increase substantially and then these jerks would complain about not being able to eat out anymore. I should just hit the IGNORE button and move on. WHY WHY WHY DOES MY COMPUTER NOT HAVE AN IGNORE BUTTON?

(Get on that, Microsoft.)

There's just something in the banker's tone. Something so ugly and angry and hateful and contrary to what life (in my humble opinion) is all about. Compassion, looking out for each other, being kind... Not acting like a festering ass boil to the people who serve you.

THOSE SORTS OF THINGS.

Question Of The Day

Every morning, when Sheridan and I are getting ready to head off to school and work, we normally watch the news in an attempt to stay abreast of the daily goings-on in the area. And one of the things Sher looks forward to is their Question Of The Day. Just a little daily trivia type segment. We never know the answer, but it's fun anyway.

"Alright, now it's time for our question of the day..."

"While most men have done this, approximately 10% have not... What is it?"

Me: "Hmmm... I'm going to say stop and ask for directions when they get lost. What do you think, Sher?"

Sheridan: *Cups her hands around her mouth and whispers* "S - E - X"

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For the record, the correct answer was laundry.

5 Second Rule

Ever since that episode of Mythbusters came on where they tested the 5 second rule, I've used my sister as the authority on this. She used to work in a kitchen, so she's the expert; right?

So once in a while I'll text her with something stupid like,

"Toasted bagel... Cream cheese side up. 5 second rule?"

And she will say, "eat it."

And you know I do; it's a ruling.

Come to think of it... She's never told me to NOT eat something off the floor.

... Goddammit.

Bad News...

I usually listen to Bo and Jim during my morning commute to the office, because I still have yet to purchase a stereo that DOESN'T have a busted ass cd player. Anyway, they were busy rattling off their list of things people should know, but probably don't.

I found #8 especially alarming.

According to the American Cancer Society, if women sit more than six hours a day, we're increasing our chances of dying by 37 percent, despite whether or not we work out, compared with women who sit less than three hours a day.

God, this is horrible news! I woke up this morning foolishly thinking my chances of dying were a measly 100% ... and now? 137%??? It's even worse than I thought!

I need to get a new desk.

Voicemail Etiquette For Dummies

You will not start sputtering out run-on sentences at 90 mph, with no pauses while I frantically try to jot down any discernible piece of information that I can use to decipher who the heck you are and what you need.

OH of course you will! You enjoy imagining me hunched over my desk with a steno pad and pen hitting the repeat button every 3 seconds.

“hierinthisisbl??ry??andineedyoutocallmebackrightawayat…”

When you tell me your name, S L O W D O W N just a tad so that when I go into our records to search for you, I know whether to hunt for Adele LaVance, or Adela Vance.

Which brings me to my next point: You will calmly, and in a carefully controlled manner, recite your phone number, area code first… TWO TIMES, so that I can accurately transcribe it to my post-it.

… Oh who am I kidding?

No you won’t. You’ll yammer for 7 minutes before dashing through the number only one time so that I can’t possibly make heads or tails of it.

“Heeeeey Erin, How are you? (I never understood asking how someone is on a voicemail). Things are good here. We got some chickens… 4 big leghorns. Also, we got this cat, and it’s orange… He’s a pretty good mouser.. Our dog, Brutus, remember him? Well.. blah blah blah blah … boop boop boop boop.. wah wah wah wah wah wah… *7 minutes later* Well, I have that 200 dollars that I owe you. If you want to get it, call me back. If you call at about 10:30… I should be home. Well, actually… any time after 10:35… But if you wait until 11:00… that may be too late… Aaaaanyway… Call me back. I’m at, 2546??92??1.”

SERENITY NOW.

You see? Now I have to restart and go through that entire slow-ass boring message again to TRY to make sense of it.

I hate when people don’t have good phone number rhythm.

“You can call me at 254eight……..teen31.”

“DUDE I already wrote the 8 too close to the dash!”

Another thing some of you enjoy doing in a voicemail: SPELLING OUT YOUR ENTIRE EMAIL ADDRESS WITHOUT SAYING IT.

“Yeah, you can email the documents to me at, J-E-R-K-F-A-C-E-ampersat-E-M-A-I-L-dot-F-A-I-L.”

Extreme ID-10-T error.

Thanks for reading!

By:

Erin Cinek. That’s E-R-I-N, not A-A-R-O-N. (But that’s another story. About an interview I once had with some corporate HR guy who kept applying Carmex with his middle finger in this hideous circular motion. And if I need to tell you what it reminded me of, then you are reading the wrong blog today, my friend.)

Beef Jerky Time!

So I met someone last night… His name is SAKE BOMB (!!!). Oh, sure, he looks harmless enough sitting there in his tiny, benign white cup. But make no mistake, he’s very dangerous!


We celebrated Adrienne’s birthday at Fuji last night. I believe I drank my share … And her’s… Being pregnant and all, I decided I should be the hero and jump on that grenade for her.


If I would just drink more often, I would know when to stop, but it sneaks up on me every time.


Periodically, I’d check in with Adrienne and Jessica.


“Am I talking loud?"


"How’m I doohooin’?”


They kept assuring me I was fine. I know I can trust them. So why did I FEEL like I was acting like the American version of Eddie Murphy as the exchange student from Cameroon in Trading Places? Loud. Ridiculous smile plastered on my face for no apparent reason.



Adrienne, I hope I did not embarrass you on your birthday. But if I did, I can’t say that I regret much. There is no medicine quite like a good, girls’ night out.


Merry Birthday! HA HAHA HAAAA!