I’ve contracted a case of tipping

About this social contract.  It exists between the patrons and the service staff of these sit-down restaurants.  It goes something like this: by choosing to darken the door of restaurant X, I have pledged to pay a portion of the server/bus boy’s compensation. 

The server probably pulls in an hourly wage of $3.  The lion’s share of his income consists of the freewill tipping of those he serves.  I know this.  He knows this.  So long as I choose to eat at his restaurant I am subject to this contact. 

Social contracts are funny things.  From my limited understanding, they tend to involve parties voluntarily surrendering certain rights in return for an agreed-upon set of services or guarantees.  In the case of a restaurant-going type, the patron surrenders her right to surcharge-free food.  In return, she is guaranteed a level of service much higher than she might otherwise receive.  If, for instance, she were to remain home and enjoy her surcharge-free entrée, no amount of coaxing will convince her pet gerbil to top off her Coke or, for crying out loud, bring her another gin and tonic.  It’s a tradeoff. 

Another thing about social contracts: they are famously difficult to enforce.  What are the consequences of paying the check and leaving the table bare?  Well, there really aren’t any, unless you count that feeling of creeping dirtiness that can cow even the most brazen cheapskate into leaving a respectable tip; or the outside chance that they’ll see you coming next time and slip some khat into your burrito right before you take the pee test for the big job you just landed.  Ah, social contracts. 

The servers, they are at my mercy.  There is no reckoning for me if I vanish without leaving a tip.  But I know that my leaving no tip is a few steps away from them missing a paycheck.  What about levels of service, you object?  And you’d be raising a good point if you did.  Lazy, incompetent servers should not be rewarded for terrible service or rude behavior.  So, as the previously mentioned author suggested, leave them an average tip and promptly speak to their manager. 

Just as in your workplace where you wouldn’t expect to lose a paycheck simply because you made a couple of dumb mistakes that week, neither should you automatically penalize a server who may be tired or just broke up with their girlfriend.  Give their manager some feedback.  If their performance is consistently poor, most management will find a way to improve it, perhaps “permanently.”  Yes, there are exceptions.  That’s not the point.  The point is that no one forced you to dine at “The Argentine Grill” last night.”  You choose to, now pay up. 

The beauty of this social contract is that it is not formalized.  What if, no matter the service, the server always got 18 percent (or whatever a diner is supposed to tip these days)?  I’d be at their mercy—because if the contract were formalized and the tip guaranteed, a lot of service would quickly degenerate into thinly-veiled efforts to get me out the door without too much work. (Ah, behold the federal government bureaucracy.  But that’s a whole other pot of soup.).   

Still, imagine if somehow the contract were formalized.  Imagine if servers made a decent wage and the food was simply marked up some more.  Then a tip would mean something.  This system would seem to be more efficient.  Pay your staff a wage they can live on and provide opportunities for performance-based bonuses—i.e. tips.  Those non-tipping scoundrels would pay their share.  Average folk wouldn’t have to fret over how much to tip sub-par service.  And, glory of glories, we wouldn’t have to suffer through waiters up-selling that $11 glass of Vouvray to go with the mussels, or droning on about how great the special of the day would be in an effort to increase the total tab and by extension, their tip.  (Note: “special of the day” can also be translated as a not-so-specially-priced meal that really isn’t any better than the pork chops.  It’s just not on the menu.)

For now though, we must suffer the nerve-wracking indignities (at least for an infrequent restaurant-goer such as myself) of the social contract and attempt to dignify the work of those who make their living based on our compliance with the contract.  I guess this is one of those trials of modern life. 

Currently Reading Bible Doctrine By Wayne Grudem see related

The eBay of charity

What if you could help a desperately poor person, maybe even help lift them permanently from poverty?  And what if in so doing you brought their family out of poverty as well as that of their neighbors?  Turns out you can. 

www.Kiva.org. It’s what you’d get if you created a cocktail of Facebook, eBay and the World Bank.  Stir in a generous helping of…well, generosity.  The outcome is an innovation in third-world poverty relief that holds the power to trump the complacency of many rich nation citizens and lure them in with that universal human desire to participate in other people's lives. 

Kiva combines the not-so-new idea of micro-lending, with much newer technology like Paypal, online social networking and blogging.  Granted, I think this organization has yet to tap into the innovate capacity of their website (the lending data, third-party group transparency, and borrower profiles could certainly be more robust).  But, wow, such a great idea.   By matching wealth--that’s you and me--with credit-strapped, yet entrepreneurial, poverty Kiva brings small loans (usually in the neighborhood of a thousand dollars) to very impoverish people around globe.  The idea is to offer food stall operators in Baku, fabric vendors in Phnom Penh, and mechanics in Addis Ababa access to small (in western, though not developing world terms) loans. 

The nitty-gritty is a sort of eBayesque “bidding” system that allows people with available capital to loan it to third world entrepreneurs via an Internet loaning platform.  You can make loans in denominations as small as $25 to as many borrowers as you wish, and in a way diversify your portfolio.  If you are a hard-charging free market capitalist you will be disappointed that you don’t earn interest on your lending. 

But think of it this way: a loan of $1,200 to a Tanzanian farmer holds the potential to permanently lift her family out of poverty and even create new jobs among the most impoverished.  We can join with 24 other lenders with $50 to spare and suddenly a farmer in Tanzania can dramatically expand her operation, buy additional seed, fertilizer, maybe even a plow to replace her hoe—a hoe for crying out loud! 

We’re talking serious innovation.  Unlike the charitable giving of yesterday, you get to decide the exact nature of the project to support AND over time you get your money back.    

I admit that Kiva seemed like a cool idea when I read about it a few months ago.  But I was compelled to recommend it and participate after reading Rich Christians upon the advice of the most hospitable Diercks commune.  While I am still working through what I see as flaws in Sider’s arguments, he makes very germane and convicting points that affluent Christians must consider.  He addresses the question of what Christians with plenty of money, nice houses, nice cars and good jobs should do in the face of crushing poverty (and no, not the domestic poor, the dollar-a-day variety of poverty)?  His answer, in short, is to give more of our money away. 

I commend this website and organization to you.  It is good to lend some dough to a hard-working poor person in Cambodia or mechanic in Paraguay.  I think the Savior smiles upon it.

Industry standard

short statement 

Jarring and mildly funny.  Recently, a miscellaneous fee appeared on one of my bank statements.  My primary brick and mortar bank is Wachovia Bank.  You've heard of them, the guys swallowing up other banks in an effort to create synergy and improve customer service [eg. rake in ever larger profits]. 

This $5.95 fee was marked on my statement as a PFM monthly access fee.  After doing some research and speaking with a confused representative at a local branch I discovered that Wachovia decided to start charging a fee each month to customers who use online money management software such as Quicken or MS Money . 

I suppose that is the right of a financial institution in a free market economy.  But for crying out loud--six bucks to download a dozen transactions to my computer each month? And why don't any of the seven other financial institutions that I use charge such a fee? 

But I repeat, that is their right.  In attempting to explain the fee the bank representative recommended that I discontinue using of the software I've used for several years (in this case MS Money) and convert to a "paper ledger."  I stared at her. 

"A paper ledger?" I asked.

She fiddled nervously with her pencil, as if to illustrate the tool I might use to balance the family budget. 

"This is 2007," I said, no longer attempting to conceal my incredulity. 

With a shrug she turned her chair 20 degrees and mumbled something about calling the 800 customer service number.  Our meeting was over.   I wanted to ask her why she couldn't provide some customer service, instead of referring me to a corporate phone number.  But it was clear Ms. Paper Ledger was not interested in a discussion and I feared losing control of my tongue.

Currently, all I can think is, "how soon I can find a new local bank?"  Wachovia has one thing going for them: they have a branch across the street from where we live.  But oh-so-much incompetence, disrespect and zero customer service all adds up to a major disgruntled customer ready to walk to the Chevy Chase Bank. 

Paper ledgers: 0

21st century: 1

Roadtrip

Climate change

Currently Reading Collapse : How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed By Jared Diamond see related