Want to talk? Then tip.

===LETTER FROM PORTLAND===

Hello everyone! And thanks to VA for opening Foreclosed and Divorced up to my guest posts.

Since January, I am a bartender. And like most newly-minted bartenders, I make minimum wage plus tips. Basically, I make tips.

So I was alarmed to realize, when I started work after New Year's, that not everyone leaves a gratuity. I don't mean that not everyone tips well, or that not everyone tips on every drink. I mean that some people don't tip AT ALL.

That's their prerogative. A heartless disposition and a genuine dissatisfaction with the quality of service provided could, I suppose, justify no tip.

But my god. If you don't tip, at least have the decency not to try to chat up your bartender. He might say something like

'That's interesting. Have you tried it out on your COLD DEAD HEART?'

-or-

'Oh I'm sorry, what was that? I couldn't hear you because of all the THE BLOOD RUSHING TO MY HEAD FOR ALL THE BILLS I HAVE TO PAY ON MINIMUM WAGE'

This evening, two young ladies came in and ordered several rounds of PBR's (Portland's Best Refreshment; or, if you prefer, Pabst Blue Ribbon). Each time I rang them up, I hopefully brought them a handful of bills and coins. And each time, they pocketed it all. No tip.

That didn't stop them from putting about $20 in the jukebox and more than that in the video lottery machines. But no tip for Herr Barmixer. Times are tight.

Their crowning achievement was trying to engage me in a conversation about their recent trip to Egypt. One girl held up her wrist and asked me to smell a fragrant bracelet, an Egyptian souvenir that (she claimed) was made from Sandalwood.

"Smell it!" She said, shaking her wrist in the direction of my face. "Come on, smell it."

I value my job. After all, it's a job. So I didn't say anything. But I sure as hell didn't smell that bracelet. The road to hell, I hear, is paved with fragrant Sandalwood bracelets.

JR