Student. Electronic music producer. Brazillian Jiu-Jitsu and Muay Thai practitioner. Pizza guy. Raver. Mechanic. I am a Renaissance kid, and these are the thoughts I have that I'm be embarrassed to put into words...except on the internet.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

American culture and tipping.

Six months ago, I was hired as a delivery driver for Pizza Hut. Before I had this job, I rarely tipped. Mind you, a big part of it was that I rarely had more money than the money I had just spent on food; but I didn't realize how insulting it was to not be tipped.

Let me go on a tiny tangent before I make my point about tipping. When you're talking to a waiter, cashier, maybe even your electrician or something; you only see them as the service they are providing you. You don't realize that your waiter may not have slept in three days because he's had finals all week; or that he's trying his absolute hardest to smile at you even though he's dreading going home to his cheating girlfriend that he wishes he had the gall to leave. It's weird how we depersonalize people that we are paying to do something.

Now, I had a bad day yesterday. I woke up feeling sick for a still unknown reason, took a shower with no hot water, found out the cat had slept on my last clean pair of pants, my car didn't start so I missed my first class, was late to my second, got a midterm back (finally) and got a C, then after all that, I had to go to work. As I mentioned previously, I deliver pizzas, and that's really all I do in the store. I'm given a bag and the order receipt and I drive to the place, get the money, and come back.

This woman, who had placed her order on the internet, gave us an address that didn't exist. When I realized this before leaving the store, I called her, and she told me she was at a park off a road near the store. Luckily, my best friend lives near there and I knew the park by name, Shadowridge park. So I drove there...and noone seemed to be expecting me. I called her again, and it turns out she was at "a park off Shadowridge Drive" not "Shadowridge park." Whatever, one mistake. She gave me directions and I got back in the car. She waved at me as I drove up near the baseball field. I got out, greeted her, she paid me, I gave her her pizzas. She gave me a disgusted look and asked where the paper plates were. I told her I didn't have plates, and that for things like that we have to be notified when the order is placed. She turned around and left.

This time it was a little bit different because the women was just an idiot and messed up her own order placing it on the internet. However, if she had spoken to someone at my store on the phone, it still wouldn't be my fault.

If the cook takes a long time to make your food, It's not the waiter's fault. Tip him anyway.

If the pizza guy is legitimately sorry that it took him too long, it was probably not his fault. A thousand things could have made him late. Tip him anyway.

If there's a tip jar or bowl at any restaurant you go to, put a tip in there. Hosts only get tips in there, not a share of the tips left at tables.

We're people too.

Never thought I'd have a blog.

Sup ladies and gay men? My name is Gabe, and this is a combination of me wanting an outlet for my thoughts and trying to find a creative way to do a social psych project. A few days ago, we all took personality tests, and had to pick a trait we found that was a big part of our personalities that we wanted to do away with. We are supposed to figure out how that trait affects our lives by trying to notice when we exhibit it. I'm going to use this blog as a way to record my behavior and a journal. What's my trait, you ask?

That's why I chose to do something that people could read. The trait I've chosen about myself is my borderline multiple personality disorder thoughts. I argue with myself all day long. I spent ten minutes today trying to decide if I should use the machine at the pump that takes bills or just go inside. Why? The guy at the gas station near my work is a big ass Russian dude that I'm pretty sure is involved in all sorts of criminal things. He gets irritated very easily. A lot of my pay is tips, so I had $40 in ones. I figured ol' Vlad would be irritated counting my 40 ones, but it'd take me a half hour to put all those bills into the machine. I ended up deciding that I didn't give a damn what Vlad thought and went inside. Vlad was not there, it was some skinny guy I'd never seen before. He was extremely friendly.

I do this with so many decisions I make...or sometimes not even descisions. I wish I knew why. Hoping this blog will give me some insight into myself. Maybe meet some similar minded people. Maybe just kill a few minutes a day. WHO KNOWS MAN, THE WORLD'S A CRAZY PLACE.