You Can Get The Tip of My . . . .

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Come to work looking like this and you can have my car!

Hello my fellow Fuckiteers. It’s your friendly neighborhood Diggems giving his ever so loved opinion on life. I just came back from a burger stand that’s a couple of blocks from my apartment. It’s one of those spots that you would probably pass by everyday and never notice. You know, the one with the shitty wholesale Coca-Cola sign with the company name written in black above it. It’s the kind of place that makes you grateful for the restaurant grading system, just to highlight what type of biological hazard you’re about to engulf. This little shanty is run by two guys who look like they’ve just passed their parole hearing a couple days ago, and are now members of the jailhouse parolee employment plan.

Even with all that though, for some odd reason, I can’t help but consider them when I’m ready to stuff my face. I must admit, they make some damn good burgers.

Anyway, I digress… What really pisses me off about this place and other establishments like it is not the service, even though their version of service with a smile is a jacked up mouth that was probably used to polish some security guards “pole” while serving time stuck in the “hole”. It certainly isn’t the location either, considering that on any dark and unsettling night this location would likely be a haven for seasoned criminals looking to practice the fine art of rape and battery. For me it’s much simpler than that. The thing that pisses me off about this place is the tip jar.

Why in the world do people feel the need to place a shitty little tip jar on the counter and expect you to donate even more of your hard earned money for a service that is supposed to be included in the price? I’m not against tipping in general, just those greedy bastards that take the general public as a bunch of ass hats ready to willingly fork over their cash.

Now jobs that have waitresses or bartender in the title are exempt from this verbal barrage. These fine individuals have a real reason to expect a little something. They perform a service that can be monetarily evaluated by the type of service given. You don’t tip these individuals because they are doing their job, you tip them because they did something to increase the quality of services already rendered. If I order coffee and the young lady serving me is pleasant, checks on me from time to time and hastily takes away my dishes; she deserves a little extra for making my experience a wonderful one.

On the other hand, if you’re a burger slinger at the local roach haven flipping patties, you do not deserve anything extra because you didn’t do anything to exceed the expectation of your job description. So with that being said, do not hint at the tip jar, look at the tip jar or even insinuate that I should reward you for doing your job. It makes about as much sense as tipping a geography teacher for pointing out where Angola is on the map. If you didn’t do shit, so don’t expect shit.

The burger shack that I referred to earlier recently insulted my intelligence when the grease monkey behind the counter gave me a troubling look because I disregarded his visual cue to entertain the tip jar. Honestly, if he hadn’t looked like a man that wouldn’t have any issue with violating his parole by bashing my head in with the greasy spatula in his hand, I would have told him about himself. Fortunately for me I enjoy not being someone’s prison bitch. And even more so, I really enjoy their tasty penitentiary inspired burgers. I’ll be sure to keep all this in mind if I ever do time. I’m sure the prison guard that I mouth off to will also expect a tip after he dents my skull in with his billy club. I can only imagine what the service would be like without the gratuity.

Diggems

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