Tipping as an artform - the Playboy bunnies got it right

Now that we've discussed the various forms of tippers, there are several techniques that can be used to get a better tip.

The first, and obviously the best working, is flirtation. Flirting is always welcomed, except by bitter women, but it almost always works. Men and women alike appreciate coyness and over the top interest. Even gay men will tell you, that when their female server flirts with them, the service seems better. Besides, most of the men I see haven't talked to a young 20-something the way that they talk to me for about 15 years, and that means 20+ percent.

Secondly, is appearance: The way we look is a reflection of ourselves and most of the time you want that reflection to be sex. Sex sells and people love a scantily clad cocktailer in fishnets. It doesn't always have to be clothes - or the lack thereof - but the way we're put together. If you come in without make-up and in your ex-boyfriends t-shirt turned inside out, people are not going to like it. I am extremely low maintenance when it comes to going to classes or anywhere else out in public, but when I work, it takes me at least 45 minutes to get ready.

As an addendum to number two, cleavage of course plays a big factor, the more the better. Don't get offended when they look because it means more money for you. Refer to the cleavage scale in my first post.

Thirdly is service. Bad service can be overlooked if you look good and act appropriate. Geriatrics aren't big fans of you crossing your arms and pushing your girls up, but they do appreciate consideration. I always try to make a comment about how the light really is low as they squint at the menu, not that they're so old that they can't handle mood lighting. People don't care that it takes 20 minutes to get a Carlsberg, if you drop off Playboy style.




No matter what, when in doubt unbutton your shirt, let down your hair and pretend your waiting on the best sex partner you've ever had.

Corporate men - my specialty and the best tippers.

It doesn't matter if you wear a toupee or have a tanning mark where your wedding band should be, if you work for PNC and are highly invested in your 401k, we want to wait on you.

After fruitless babying of all sorts of bad tippers, our four-leaf clovers of cocktailing are undoubtedly the rich ones. They're not all corporate, but they do all have a business credit card and they do leave the tips above the 20 percent mark.

If one isn't careful, a cat fight could ensue over the claiming of a table spilling over with 40 and 50 something men with peacoats and comb-overs. Not only do they order real wine (not happy hour) and beers other than the domestic lite special, but they have been known to order food... off of the real dinner menu!

Forget those happy hour wings - how about one order of calamari, shrimp cocktail and an ahi tuna appetizer?


Already, with one round of drinks and three dinner appetizers, the bill is 50 bucks - it only gets better from here.

A little flirting and leaning with your arms crossed over those high stools will get you pretty far. And after a night of one dollar bills, it's nice to get that 20 percent.

Men in that range are also easy to cajole into drinking more. Another Blanton's on the rocks.. oh come on, your mother's not here... soon turns into 5, at $12.00 a piece.

It must feel good to have a 20-something cocktailer flirting with you and pulling her shirt down a little lower, telling to you drink more, when you've ignored your wife of 20-year's fifth phone call to get your ass home.

I don't make the rules, I just play by them, pretty well might I add. It seems indecent, maybe that's why women hold a grudge, because they know we'd do the same thing to their husbands.

We don't discriminate. We're just trying to make a living and for that I'll pull my shirt down any day.

Women leave bad tips - it might be a genetic problem.

The worst tippers are women, specifically old women and those coming up on middle-age. If they work at Saks it's even worse. Typically, women are the nicer sex (apparently), but when it comes to compensation for the 15 midlife crisis cosmos that I've dropped at your table - 20 percent doesn't seem like a possibility.



Things that I've done to get a tip (from women, the list is entirely different for men...obviously):

1. found single guys and coerced them into joining the midlife crisis women
2. had the bartender create diet/sugar free/low sodium drinks after much begging and pleading
3. got them extra mayonnaise (this is a popular one)
4. got them extra napkins
5. got them free stuff after they consumed it and told me that it was too burnt/too salty/too sweet/too fatty/too alcoholic
6. prevented personal items from getting stolen
7. picked up scarves, sweaters, gloves, hats, lipstick, shoes and tampons from the floor

and finally...

8. convinced them that the cheeseburger they're eating really isn't that bad for them, so much protein. I eat them all of the time and I'm 125 lbs.... right... just keep drinking, it makes it seem better.

After bending over backwards, I get a measly $10 on a $100 bill (I'm a journalism major, but I'm still pretty sure that's 10 percent). Sometimes it just doesn't seem worth it, but then every once in a while you get that big tip from a group of ladies celebrating their friend's 50th birthday and you get a little more faith that all women aren't giant bitches.

Besides, I'd rather wait on the mid-life crises, than the 20-30 year-olds. It's like they are out to get you. There is a bitterness requirement for most of them. I'm not sure if it's because I act so happy, or if it's because I get to flirt with every man in the place honestly that they harbor such resentment.

Waiting on tables with those twittering former sorority girls forms visions of spilled mojitos and requests for a house salad with fat-free dressing.

Check please!

Valentine's Day is not for everyone

The night before Valentine's Day was especially wonderful at my place of employment. Not only did we have a valentine's appetizer, entree, dessert and cocktail, which happened to be a raspberry kiss, but even the Friday night before, the dining room was filled with love birds.

The bar was a different story.

You must be a pretty quirky individual to go out the night before Valentine's Day to drown your sorrows in a bar where cocktails are $9.50. As we were winding down after the happy hour rush, two men came in to do just that.

One of the guys is a semi-regular customer and always leaves the bartender a large tip, unfortunately I didn't immediately recognize him as such. That evening, he was decked out in a very high-end light and dark pink striped shirt which complemented his unnaturally tan skin nicely.

His friend was trying to play cupid and as I walked out of the kitchen back into the bar, Cupid immediately nudged his friend and motioned in my direction. I'm thinking, "Oh great, just what I need, as I am trying to.."

"HONEY!" - all the sudden my thoughts were interrupted. No not honey, like a sweet term of endearment, but more like HUUUN-EEEE.

He can't be talking to me. So as I walked by, minding my own business, he grabs my face and firmly plants a kiss on my protesting mouth. Forgive me for not recognizing you, I've only seen you a few times and I was distracted.

Apparently we're best friends and I didn't even realize. With slurred words, Cupid tries to explain his friend, who's name I still don't know, but we'll call Zeus, has been in love with me for months... and I didn't even recognize him, such a shame.

The rest of the evening consisted of him trying to kiss me every chance he got and bellowing "HONEY!!" when I wasn't in his immediate line of vision. My manager soon graced the bar with her presence and was surprised as the rest of us when Zeus asked her for a kiss and then proceeded to take off his shirt to show everyone his new tattoo.

After being groped more times than the last three weeks combined, he asks me to proclaim his love for him and ditch my boyfriend that night so we could go back to his place.

After that I decided to stay in the kitchen.

"Don't pee into the wind" is not a tip...

Anyone who has worked in the serving world knows that any paychecks received usually aren't going to buy more than two beers on dollar beer Tuesday at Silky's and it's almost more work than it's worth to make your way to the bank to deposit it. That said, tips are the only real source of income for anyone in the service industry (double entendre intended, not that I know much about the implied).

There's a trend that follows whether in the dining room or the bar. (The next few sentences apply only to men.)

We'll begin this series with those who are freshly started at their jobs. They come into happy hour after work and their bosses are leaning down the bar. They buy a few rounds and socialize and eventually, end up picking up the rest of the tab - hey big spender. The tip in this situation could go one of three ways.

The first situation could be that all of their co-workers and bosses will stand around and throw in some bills, since their drinks were paid for. This is the ideal situation, as this usually involves the largest tip. Because in his effort to be a big shot, the data entry clerk, who makes 1/5 of what their boss does, won't let anyone see the check. Thus everyone else over-tips.

The second situation involves the boss(es) actually seeing the check as they stand around drinking their Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks ($9.50 a shot). In an effort to make an even better impression, they leave a mediocre tip. Just enough to show that they can play the game.

The last situation is the worst. After everyone to impress is gone, they end up leaving a meager amount on their credit cards or lying on the table, due to the fact that they just spent their monthly beer allotment on a boss who won't even remember their name.




Moral of the story: don't buy your superiors' drinks to impress them, they don't care.