Privacy please.

Here’s a tip. No, really, I’m tipping you, as in “here’s four crumpled dollars for your trouble.” Granted, I don’t know why I’m tipping you, but I’ve become so used to the bizarre custom that now if anyone so much as looks at me I shove cash into their hand. I guess it all started when Wife and I stayed in a fancy hotel during a pit stop on our cross country road trip. Sure, the hotel was nice, but dealing with the constant stress of knowing who, when, and what to tip was almost too much to bear (this is not a turn of phrase – we are traveling with a pet bear and, like me, he was very confused by all the tipping). Based on my most recent experience dealing with hotel staff, here are the kinds of services expected to fetch a cash tip: opening doors, wearing a fez, ringing tiny bells, lifting lids, smiling, maintaining eye contact, pressing buttons, and cleaning rooms destroyed by cranky pet bears. Indeed, the art of tipping is so subtle and nuanced that I stopped keeping track and just started handing money to people in the hallway. I’m pretty sure I tipped a baby. I may have even tucked a dollar bill into the soil of a potted plant in the lobby. One thing’s for certain: this insanity must come to an end! Can’t we stop tipping people in the service industry altogether and instead pay them larger salaries? That would be a good idea, right? Oh, you’re agreeing with me. Here’s another tip.