Yesterday I gave a speech at a hotel in San Francisco. Afterwards, the hotel valet was retrieving my car as I waited out front. I guarded my tiny carry-on sized bag against the two drooling doormen as their eyelids made cha-ching sounds. You could almost hear them thinking “If I can touch his bag, he’ll have to give me money.”
Just to be clear, I am a generous tipper. I tip for good service, I tip for putrid service, and sometimes I tip just because someone is dressed as a person that expects to be tipped. Long ago, I too worked for tips, so I have no problem with the tipping system in general. And I figure that the people who can afford to tip well have some obligation to keep up the average. I’m fine with that, and happy to do my part. But there are exceptions.
One exception is a doorman that takes the bag from my hand, then turns around and puts it in my car. This is an unnecessary service that usually just slows me down. It takes about the same amount of time to hand a guy a bag and have him put it in the trunk as it does to put it there myself. And I have been opening doors by myself for years. I’m good at it. If I have to stop while the doorman lunges in front of me to get my door, it just kills my momentum. It’s like the homeless guy that washes your windshield at the stoplight – the service is useful, but you still feel vaguely mugged.
My rule is that if I can prevent the doorman from touching my bag, I can avoid tipping and still maintain a clear conscience. “What kind of car do you have?” asked the doorman, obviously planning to make his move when the valet arrived. I thought about giving him a fake car model so I could get the advantage. My plan was to unlock my trunk with my right hand while holding my tiny bag with the left, using my body to shield the bag from the doorman.
That’s when I got distracted. The valet pulled up with my car and I made the mistake of tracking it with my eyes before grabbing my bag. The doorman lunged. He was a pro. He did a reach-around, snatch-and-go and headed for my car. Shit, I thought – there goes two bucks.
Then the valet jumped out of the car. He lunged for the trunk in an effort to maximize his tip, but the doorman beat him. I wondered how many times a day these two competed to open the trunk, and if the result had any impact on the allocation of valet-doorman tip distribution. I handed the valet a five, gave he doorman two bucks, and thought I was in the clear. But the valet stayed.
“That’s a nice car,” he dawdled.
“Thanks,” I answered, as if I had built it from a kit and was personally responsible for it being nice.
“Do you need any directions?” he asked.
I did need directions, but now I wondered how much that would cost me. It seemed like my five bucks should cover both the car-related compliment and some free directions, but I wasn’t sure. Maybe directions are worth an extra dollar. But if he throws in some time-saving tips like “Take Davis Street to avoid the construction” then maybe that’s worth even more. I hated the vagueness.
So I said, “No, thanks,” got in my car and proceeded to get lost for the next 45 minutes. But I saved a dollar. Or not. I’ll never really know.