A Little Tipsy

Some are clear. Others are colored. Some have colorful labels (401K Fund). Others lack imagination (Tips). Of course, I'm not talking about the bevy of bottles at the local bars in Bozeman, although some of those are clear or colored, and some do have colorful labels or ones that lack imagination.

Nope. I'm talking about the controversial tip jar. The tip jar is not as controversial as Roe v. Wade or Britney's haircut. Yes, for all of the discussions and decisions we make on a daily basis, the one to decide whether to tip (or not to tip) is one that teases us, taunts us, and trips us up into thinking we need to give more than we actually get from most individuals that dispatch their customer skills with the grace of a blindfolded American chef attempting to make chop suey.

And for those waiting with bated breath for me to apologize for including a monumental Supreme Court decision with an alcohol-induced decision (I'm sure), please continue holding...

Back to the subject.

Using the word jar loosely, most establishments simply have tall plastic cups. Sizes range from short to venti to grande. Wait a minute...that's another establishment, er, discussion for another time. :^))

Labels are fastened to them with tape, glue, or spit with a simple request: give me a tip. My quandary is, "Do I tip, or do I not tip?" When facing that guillotine of retail guilt, I typically back my neck out of the wood stump (the counter I've been leaning on and looking over while I wait for someone to recognize me) and then toss a George Washington or two into the mouth of another starving artist, college student, serial killer...you fill in the blank.

Most of the time, I wish I could yank my cold cash out of the crevice of the lone tip jar, but I don't. Part of me understands the life of working in a job that pays you in Monopoly money, allowing you to barely survive on Baltic with a view of the Boardwalk and its bevy of Prada- and Cole Haan-adorned beauties over the horizon. The other part of me does not understand why certain establishments have tip jars when you're only picking up food.

Technically, I was waited on when I called in my takeout order. Now, putting me on hold doesn't count while you ring out the customer standing at the counter looking at the jar. Perhaps when you wrote up my order you used the best penmanship and told Avery to put extra cheese on this pizza because (insert my home address) is a fantastic tipper. I don't know. I can't see what the f#$^ you're writing nor can I hear your instructions to Avery in the back kitchen. Typically, the same person I speak to on the phone is the same person who hands me my order at the counter near the tip jar.

What work did they do? What extra service did they provide?

Tip jars are spreading across America. Starbucks (standalone and at Barnes & Noble). Sandwich shops. Ice cream parlors. Takeout places.

Coming soon...I'm expecting a tip jar to appear at the movie theater.

Where does this lead me? Frankly, I'm a little tipsy, if not dizzy, over trying to figure out how to plaster someone's ass with cash because they kissed yours on the phone or in line. Most people think that you get paid to do a job and that's it (if you're a waitress/waiter or busboy, tips are necessary). Otherwise, aren't there tax laws regarding tips?

Anyhoo, I've exhausted this topic. Keep your hands and change to yourself.

Virgin Territory

Blogs, blogs, and more blogs...after a friend (who worked with me at a software company in Portland) sent me the link to her blog, I was intrigued. As a lover of language, and that doesn't mean I edit my friends' emails or chastise individuals who butcher the English language, I decided it was time for my suppressed, creative soul to venture out into the Red Light District in the Big City...and pop the proverbial writer's cherry.

I picked the title, "Ferrannini's Fishbowl," because I'm a Pisces, but also because I feel as if I'm observing more than saying anything aloud. And, I feel like I'm fed this great material that I never use in my banter, my pseudo-standup transgressions that result when the work queue is low or, at home, when I try to be funny.

When I was in high school, a teacher pointed out the Internet as the next big thing and that all of us should seek employment in technology. Well, after a layoff, a crappy job, and a job that was great (but burned me out), I feel I am somewhat settled and ready to bless the world with my sarcastic stories.