JUST THE TIP OF THE ICEBERG

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I’ve had a lot of jobs in my lifetime, but the hardest one by far was when I waited tables. (Despite what you may have read in the tabloids, my brief stint as a Spice Girl was actually quite rewarding.)

I waited tables the summer after my freshman year in college, and ever since then I have a deep respect for anyone who makes a living bringing food to ungrateful slobs like you and me.

So I try to show my respect for the waitstaff professionals by tipping well, an art form that has apparently gone the way of Duran Duran. The concept of tipping people who assist you is not something new. Why, it is common knowledge that the Mongols often used to tip villagers after eating their organs. But, it seems that now people have decided to take the opportunity to tip as their time to make a personal statement about the overall dining experience.

Recently, I took my wife out for a romantic evening of dinner and bowling. Yes, it’s a regular Danielle Steel novel in my household. Our waitress was very nice and did everything within her control to make our dining experience enjoyable. Despite the fact that our meal did not come out of the kitchen for close to a week-and-a-half, despite the fact that other diners were coming, eating, and going before I even saw my shrimp, despite the fact that we were late for bowling, I still left a substantial tip. Why, you ask? Because the waitress was really cute.

No, kidding, of course. I am married. I no longer have the ability to determine if other women are attractive. Even if I did have the ability, I would keep it neatly stowed. My married brethren out there are nodding and sighing in sad acknowledgment.

I left her a tip because none of the bad dining experience was her fault. It wasn’t her fault that the kitchen staff decided the food would be much better if they aged it for a while. And it wasn’t her fault that the people at the table next to us were talking at a decibel level traditionally reserved for Who concerts. She was doing the best she could with what she had to work with, so I tipped her well.

And you should tip well, too. Unless your server comes over and vomits on your table and smacks your wife, leave a couple of bucks. It’s not going to kill you. And it may keep some poor college student from having to go and knock off a liquor store to earn beer money. Hey, think of it this way -- tipping well is fighting crime!

A lot of people use the old 15 percent standard when tipping. That’s fine, when you and your dinner party actually eat real entree items and leave in a timely fashion. But when you park your caboose at a restaurant table and have coffee for two hours while reading the want ads, it’s a real slap in the face to leave your server 15 percent of your $0.65 bottomless cup of coffee.

For situations such as that, tips should be figured as follows: for every hour that a person takes up space in a restaurant, he should be required to tip at least 15 or 20 percent of an average priced meal. For every hour after two hours, he should be required to adhere to loitering laws, because that’s just way too much time to spend sitting there drinking coffee. Cut your kidneys some slack, man.

Plenty of people also have trouble grasping the tipping concept in bars. The problem here is not with the people who drink. No, sir. When is the last time a sober person left a 290 percent tip? Never. When is the last time a drunk guy left a 290 percent tip to a cute bartender? Happened all over this country just last night, my friend. We guys are dumb enough, but throw a few beers in us, giggle a little and twirl your hair, and we’re ready to pretty much hand over our wallets.

But then there are the people who are with the drunk, hormone-crazed tip-a-holics. They drink water for nine hours, and then don’t leave a tip, offering the following lame excuse: "Water here is free. 15 percent of zero is zero." I hate to tell you this, Mr. Mathmagician, but that bartender or waiter or waitress or Gunga Din still had to fetch you your water. You were still a living, breathing, pain in the waitstaff taking up a barstool, so cough up a couple of bucks, lest the next water accidentally land upside your head at 30 miles an hour.

So there you have it. I hope you will take my advice to heart and tip your wait staff. You can make a difference. At least in the number of liquor store robberies.