WOMEN AND TIPPING

Have you ever gone out to a restaurant with your girlfriends?  For some reason this is universally true for all women - the calculation of the final bill becomes a monumental task that rivals the recent debate in Congress over raising the debt limit.  And no matter how you calculate the bill you are screwed.  You always end up paying at least fifty dollars for a salad and glass of lemonade.  How does this happen? 

Often I try to do it the men's way - just figure out a twenty percent tip and divide the amount up evenly.  Of course men don't take into consideration that for parties of four or more the restaurant has already included the tip.  It is considered unmasculine to even double check the receipt and ensure you're not buying drinks for the house.

No.  Men are crazy.  But I digress.

I have women friends who carry a tip cheat sheet with them.  They scrutinize every item, make a graph from an Excel spreadsheet, color code items, remove the tax, calculate the tip.  Often pie charts are involved.  It doesn't matter, it still will come out to $50 for a salad.  It's like a Twilight Zone thing, at one with the universe.

There was a spot on the Internet recently that said Johnny Depp left a $4,000 tip for a $4,400 bill.  That is such a guy thing.  Bill Murray leaves a 150% tip.  (These facts verify my previous comment that MEN ARE CRAZY).

From Cheers

Diane: "Sam, if I am to serve both as a waitress and a butt of jokes, I think I should make more money."

Carla: "Yeah, what does a good butt make in this town?"

I remember my mom and I going to a Wags restaurant about a thousand years ago.  We had a Lucy and Ethel moment, the crazy idea we would  be waitresses there.  It would be fun.  And we could make some extra spending change.  Wags was a soda shop that used to be in Walgreens stores (I think.  It was so long ago that I could be making some of this up.)  I was about sixteen at the time and momma must have been in her mid forties.

Anyway, the boss had us sit on chairs in the kitchen and watch, to give us an idea of how things worked and how the girls handled their orders.  We watched the waitresses run around for about fifteen minutes before mom and I looked at each other and blinked.  Suddenly mom said, "Let's get the hell out of here."  They never saw us for the streak of lightning that passed through their midst.

No, I guess now that I think about it, waitresses deserve 150%, they work that hard. 

I sure as hell won't give it to them, but they deserve it.

Of course, there are certain other benefits...