File Under the Auspices of Accidental Chip on Shoulder

A few weeks ago, a friend I served with in the Peace Corps came to town on business, and we arranged to meet for a weeknight dinner in Washington, DC. We had a wonderful time talking about what’s going on in our lives presently and reminiscing about the nearly 21 years we’ve known each other. A small financial matter at the conclusion of our dinner prompted an unexpected exchange of insights on our different public handling of being charged for something we did not expect to pay for. Watching my friend’s proactive response and hearing his rationale made me realize my own behavior towards “bill shock” deserves further examination and recalibration.

As we finished eating dinner and our server brought the check, my friend J noticed the restaurant had automatically added an 18% gratuity to our total. We were a little surprised, because the restaurant was upscale but not terribly so, was mostly empty, and we were a party of two. My friend J asked me if this was standard practice in Washington, and I said I thought it was only standard practice for parties of six or more. I was mildly amused wondering why our server thought she needed to “assess” two middle-aged, smartly dressed, obviously professional people in order to not be stiffed on a tip. But I was going to leave it at that and drop my card on the tray, like the rest of the beleaguered American automatons who have begun to accept things like this as part of the cost of eating out. But J was having none of it.

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Something has definitely happened during the last few years in the United States since we returned from overseas. In my opinion, “tip creep” and the tipping culture have gotten out of control. Things that aren’t even services and didn’t previously garner a tip before now expect one, and apparently, command one. What was once a standard 15% tip expectation now averages 18% to 25%, even in mid-range chain restaurants where the suggested tip percentages are not necessarily commensurate with “service” received.

It’s one thing to leave a big tip at a fancy place on an occasion in recognition of great service. It’s another to be expected to tip higher and higher rates – often on digital and contactless payment platforms with predetermined tip rates that I think intentionally make money feel abstract and easier to part with, all under the auspices of “convenience” – that have no correlation whatsoever with service, while the cost of living keeps rising for the middle class.

Many people much smarter than me have already written extensive articles about modern American tipping culture. There’s no need for me to go into a lengthy analysis. Suffice it to say I see the hard-working people of the service industry. I understand on some level – having lived in a society like Australia, for example, with a very different setup and essentially no tipping – why things here function the way they do. I tend to tip on the higher side, and 20% became my “good” tip at restaurants and salons in urban areas a long time ago, particularly when service is very good as it tends to be for me as a repeat customer.

But I was surprised when I learned the IRS considers restaurant-added automatic gratuities on a bill service charges rather than tips! Who knew? It’s a distinction with a difference; the former is something for which the restaurant dictates policy, whereas the latter by definition are freely given by the customer who decides the amount. It isn’t even clear to me whether a server gets any of those automatically assessed gratuities. Depending on laws which vary by state, gratuities (like other types of service charges, i.e. banquet fees) stay with the establishment. But employers are evidently obligated to use tip money to make up the difference between the ridiculous $2.13 an hour service industry workers earn and the actual minimum wage.

I would posit the legitimate shortcomings in service worker salaries need to be paid by their employers and not outsourced to the American public under the guise of making workers “earn” it. I suppose we could argue the American public would pay one way or another regardless, and not all employers are big corporate entities, but I personally am getting sick and tired of being asked to tip for every little thing whether I am actually receiving a service or not. I know I am not alone.

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On my evening out with J, though, to be clear, I was not even making a distinction between the practice of being directed to leave a gratuity and the likely generous tip I was already planning to give our lovely server. I probably would have been leaving about the same amount of money either way. But on principle, it’s still not the same thing. On my own, I’d likely not have gotten a major bee in my bonnet about it. I think the extent to which I’d thought through automatic gratuities was to inwardly roll my eyes at other people who don’t leave tips who I’d misguidedly, vaguely blamed for this latest great idea in the nonstop automated march to Get More of Our Money.

For J, who lives in the Midwest, it was a bridge too far.

He motioned politely for our server and when she appeared, he inquired why the gratuity had been automatically added. Isn’t this something you do only when you have a large party? As it tends to do in situations where someone pushes back on a bill in public, my smile froze on my face and I held perfectly still like I was prey being stalked. It’s my own silly little pearl-clutching moment. The server peered at the bill in the dim restaurant, then shifted uncomfortably. J kept his tone friendly. It’s just two of us here, he pointed out, gesturing to me and back to himself.

She’s going to think we’re cheap, I fretted internally, not knowing where to put my hands.

Well, the server ventured. It’s hotel policy. The restaurant was attached to a hotel.

I felt instant relief. Well, that’s just how they do it, then, I thought, fussily taking my expensive wallet out of my expensive purse and feeling like a jackass.

J persisted, asking her to remove the charge in his polite but firm way as if he were negotiating a high-stakes deal. I don’t think this should be added automatically. We will tip you ourselves, he reassured her as if that was the final word on the subject. The server agreed and removed the tray. I couldn’t believe it.

As she went to correct the issue, I wanted to hide. I didn’t disagree with J; to the contrary. But the encounter made me realize how deeply uncomfortable I am – not with money, but… with, what? Inconveniencing someone? Asking someone to do something they don’t want to do? Putting a fine point on the ‘zero sum-ness’ money can be? Not sticking up for us like he had? I circled around my discomfort (pearl-clutching!) and couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

I asked J, Don’t you feel embarrassed? She’s going to think we’re cheap! The actual horror. Kind of reminded me of my loathing for bargaining.

Of course not, he said, dismissing not me but my concern. Listen, it’s our money. I’m sure you’ve noticed the tipping expectations have gotten way out of hand. I don’t know how deciding how much two people should tip at a place like this got normalized, but it’s wrong. We have to take a stand. Businesses do this because they can. I wasn’t rude to her, and it’s not her fault anyway.

Holy crap, I thought. He’s right. It’s just the latest thing “they’re” getting away with. We don’t even get to decide anymore what kind of service we’re getting. We’re being told: you got exceptionally good service, and you paid for it, too! Kthxbye!

It started to dawn on me all the times I hadn’t stuck up for myself in similar situations. The ridiculous service charges I hadn’t even asked about – despite being verbally informed – the weekend before when V and I had gone to the Virginia State Fair that turned two hot dogs into a nearly $40 experience. We just rolled our eyes. The shocking salon service I’d recently had where the bill came out to be hundreds of dollars more than I’d expected (or paid on my prior visit) for no discernible reason. Not only did I not ask why, but I didn’t even address the stylist for mumbling the amount and quickly shoving the tap-and-pay device in my direction almost as if he were ashamed himself, and hoped I didn’t ask how much the total was. When I walked out onto the street, I felt overheated and angry with myself. I wasn’t broke, but what the hell? I certainly could have done other things with that money. I wasn’t afraid of these people. Had I thought to have a discussion beforehand, I would have certainly had questions. But after the fact, it seemed totally pointless to get into it. Cripes.

Getting overcharged or being confronted with unexpected expenses happens to everyone. But why did J push back on a small amount while I just freeze in the face of relatively much bigger upcharges? I value my money. I protect it, some would say with legendary aggression. I grow it. I’m one of the only people I know who still balances a paper checkbook. I know where every nickel of my money is, no joke. I regularly check on my retirement accounts, my investment accounts, my savings. I had my estate planning in order years ago. I rarely “waste” money. So why is it that I feel so hesitant to push back on someone saying, “This special thing cost x dollars,” and instead respond with behavior that screams, “Why, of course it does, dahhling, and I’ve got it!”

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Let’s assume for the sake of argument that J and I have the same amount of assets and expenses. I don’t know that to be true, but I want to eliminate non-behavioral variables. Why is it that irrespective of (a) both of us having enough money to pay for a nice dinner, (b) both of us respecting and valuing our own money, and (c) both of us not wanting to waste money on what we agreed was an unnecessary charge, that only one of us thought to address it so directly with the server? It’s not like I’m intimidated by the server, and he isn’t. Nobody who knows either of us would think this. We just wanted our agency back to tip her as we would normally do without being directed to do so, and as we now know, to give a tip to her and not a service fee to the establishment that already likely pays her less than a couple bucks per hour.

I spent a really long time thinking about the reasons for my avoidance, and the answer I eventually came to bothered me. I think at the end of the day, it makes me uncomfortable to be confronted with a stranger’s impression that I do not want to pay for something I want or have enjoyed. Or even worse, that I cannot pay for it.

I don’t remember what I told J during our dinner to illustrate this point, because I hadn’t fully reflected upon it at the time. And maybe I still haven’t. But one memory that comes to mind was being followed in a nice store when I was young because the saleswoman thought I couldn’t afford to buy anything there and might steal. It stung to be perceived as this low-class person who not only couldn’t afford nice things, but also apparently had questionable judgment and low morals. I was so embarrassed I felt like I wanted to hide, even though I didn’t do anything wrong.

Another example was a first date I went on in college where the guy suggested at the end of an expensive meal (to which he’d invited me) that we “dine and dash;” in other words, run out and not pay. I was so embarrassed to be treated that way, I paid for the whole meal myself on my near maxed-out credit card and didn’t say a word about not being able to afford it – and of course, never spoke to him again. What about me made this seem OK to him? I would have no sooner “defrauded an innkeeper” than I would have flapped my arms and flown to Saturn. Interestingly enough, I remember being more afraid of the humiliating prospect of getting stuck there unable to pay or take a cab home than even the prospect of getting arrested in the parking lot and ending up in jail.

I didn’t grow up poor. We never had our utilities turned off or went to bed hungry. My childhood was, thanks to my parents, better and more financially stable than what either of them had known growing up. But I wasn’t from a rich family either.

I knew what it was to struggle and sacrifice, particularly as a teenager and young adult who largely put myself through college and grad school by working full-time during my studies and taking out big student loans (that took me the first 15+ years of my career to pay back). I paid sorority dues with credit cards that I scraped to make minimum payments on because I liked and craved the philanthropic and social aspects of that part of the college experience.

I was around peers who generally had more money than I did. I was very aware of how much easier their lives were than mine and how many more choices they had than I did, about everything from what to wear to what to eat, and where to travel and how to spend their more abundant free time that wasn’t soaked up by the craze of rushing from work to classes like mine was. There were no study abroad trips or internships or foreign vacations for me.

I worked hard to get to where I am now. I did things on my own. While I envied my peers in some ways, I not-so-secretly was glad I was free of what I saw as my friends’ parents’ unnecessary leverage over their financial neediness which they used to restrict freedom and gain compliance with various inane rules. I neither required help nor wanted to rely on anyone but myself. It wouldn’t have been a good tradeoff in my view. I flew close to the sun: it was on me to keep from melting.

I both learned to guard my money – one of my most precious resources – but also conceal in front of strangers the deficiency I felt when I didn’t have money. I guess I felt ashamed. Later, I came to better understand signs of wealth were murkier and less distinguishable than I’d originally assessed. Often, it’s the people who drive new cars and live in large homes who are underwater on their mortgages and drowning in bills they can’t afford, while people who appear to live more conservatively may have solid investment portfolios and the kind of decision-making power guaranteed by responsible saving habits. So over time, financial decision-making correctly shifted to actual strategic planning and away from displays others could evaluate.

The old paradigm of somehow making conspicuously paying for things analogous with an ability to pay is silly, which I know intellectually because I’ve never been a money-in, money-out person anyway. I long ago replaced this thinking with alignment between my finite money and my priorities and wisdom – I just didn’t always feel comfortable pausing long enough to stand in my own truth when faced with irrelevant optics and the perceptions of people I don’t even know.

I realized there is nothing wrong with having money and not spending it and asking lots of questions to make sure you allocate it wisely. J did this in the restaurant, and a light bulb relit in the back of my mind. It was the same thing. The money was his, and he was protecting it on principle, whether it was a little or a lot, not demonstrating some embarrassing frugality. Whether he had the money or not was not a factor. It seems obvious as I type it, but I promise as I sat there wanting to hide under the table, it was not, because that old shame was unconsciously reactivated.

The long-ago stings from the past that occasionally and subconsciously drive my behavior sometimes makes me wonder if there is more of a chip on my shoulder to heal than I was aware of. I needed to sit with this discomfort for a while.

As humans we tend to do what works for us, even when it doesn’t initially seem clear why. I strive to be intentional about the things I do rather than just reacting or trying to avoid discomfort. I think examining and rewriting our past narratives in a conscious way as we get older, instead of letting outdated storylines define us, is really important for our own growth.

I’m almost looking forward to the next time someone tries to upcharge me so I can just pause for an awkward 10 seconds, and then say, “Tell me more about why this costs twice as much as last time.” Now, that’s more my speed.