Don’t tip. That’s the message we have all been receiving this past week, slowly. The Jitters jar has had an addendum added to its cheerful “Tips.” A melancholy little “Not.”
It’s a longstanding but only recently vital or enforced Bon Appétit policy, we are told. There are tax intricacies too deep for us to fathom. The tips hardly amounted to anything anyway.
To the first, we ask what changed? Why now? To the second, fine, thanks Obama. To the third, we ask, have you ever paid for laundry? Quarters are magic and make all the pennies and dimes in the world worth the trouble – nickles remain inexcusable.
But, you protest, the service professionals of Europe are not tipped. That’s true in a few countries, but more important, that’s not how it is here. In America, we communicate our appreciation for wait staff, baristas, and bartenders with tips. Regardless of whether the tips of the socially-conforming college student living month to month add up to anything financially significant or represent a sentiment of genuine gratitude in the particular, as a cultural institution, tips affirm the humanity of the person across the counter.
Disturbingly, the changes brought by Bon Appétit to the lives of student workers seem to represent a denial of the humanity, or at the very least studentry, of those workers. First it was uniforms reducing individual expression. Then it was expanded work shifts, adding a new spectre to the nightmare of scheduling – adding obstacles to balancing studies and employment. Now it’s forbidden tips.
Whether or not there is a plan to make being a student worker impossible, we can come to our classmates’ aid. We for one are very forgetful people, and sometimes we leave our change on the counter. We are maybe a little bit flirtatious too, and “forget” our change with a wink and a finger on our lips. We don’t blame confused student workers who pocket these lost coins. And we invite you, the rest of coffee addicted campus, to join us in “not tipping.”
