Tipping is not a place in China.
Wherever you travel, though - to an exotic locale or just a few miles down the road on a weekend get-a-way - service staff at the burger joint or upscale restaurant you frequent will be anticipating a "service fee".
This especially rings true in Vegas, undoubtedly, the biggest tourist trap west of the Mississippi.
Generally, it's a no-brainer.
For example, if I am slamming a few coins in the one-arm bandit at a Casino during the cocktail hour, I may be inclined to flag down the waitress for a thirst-quenching brewskie.
If the ale arrives promptly - and is chilled to a decent temperature - then I tip a buck (even though the drink - provided by management and aimed at greasing and loosening my senses - is on the house).
On the other hand, in the afternoon when I prefer to sip on a soda, I usually don't cough up a tip at all.
Have you ever tasted a house "coke"?
It consists of a dollop of "syrup" flavoring, a jigger of water, and ice packed to the rim of the cup.
Knocking down four or five during the course of a lazy afternoon would end up costing a hefty fiver.
For a watered-down rip-off coke that costs the hotel a quarter?
Forget it!
Fast-food take-outs are a snap.
Unless the waitress with the fake boob job turns you on, no tip is necessary, dudes!
As to coffee shops, a recent turn-of-events at Starbucks may influence the reasoning powers, somewhat.
Whenever I patronized the Seattle-based java house, I usually tipped a couple of quarters - even a buck on occasion - if the order consisted simply of a hot tea. After all, it is a straightfoward serve, without all the muss & fuss involved in the preparation of a specialty coffee.
But, when I learned that tips are collected at the end of the day and placed in the vault - then divied up among servers (and managers, too) at the end of the week - I balked for good reason.
The tip I tossed in the jar was to reward the individual on duty, not some supervisor standing around in the backroom picking his nose somewhere, complaining about the downturn at Starbucks once-golden empire.
Regular restaurants require a fifteen-to-twenty percent tip based on the service.
For example, if you bill is $8.50, simply move the decimal point one space to calculate 10% . ($.85)
Then, if the tip is fifteen percent, add half of that to the sum.
For a twenty percent offering, simply multiply the eight-five cents by two ($170.00).
Fancy restaurants - with a doorman in a tuxedo and an on-the-ball waiter with a knowledge of wines who delivers up the appetizers quick - may beg a tip on the higher end (twenty-two to twenty-five percent).
You do the math!
Besides, you don't want your dinner guests to think you're a cheap skate, do 'ya?
Buffets may require special consideration, though.
Especially, in view of the fact, Hotels in Vegas have been offering free coupons for all-you-can-eat breakfast buffets (and what-have-you).
Twenty percent of nothing is, well, nothing.
So, base the tip on service and congenialty of the hostess for starters (service with a smile?)
If the waitress is pleasant and attentive, and the food particularly tasty, I often tuck a buck or two under the saucer on the table.
In the case of a Buffet offered at a major Hotel this morning, I was inclined to re-think that strategy.
In spite of the fact I was about ten minutes into my meal, no one from the staff on duty sauntered up to ask if I was interested in a tea, or coffee, no nothing.
In case you were aware of it, most buffets in Vegas are self-serve in respect to the entrees and dessert.
For some inexplicable reason, guests are required to wait while one of the servers on the floor waltz by to take their order for beverages.
I guess it has something to do with the labor unions.
In this instant case, I was forced to get up from my table, and stroll back to a partition where the waitresses were inclined to disappear every few minutes or so.
When I peered around the wall, I spied two waitresses idly gossiping.
"Is there any service in my section," I quizzed politely.
A mousey-looking undernourished gal responded in the affirmative.
When she finally got her a** in gear, and shuffled to the table with the cold coffee, she had the audacity to try to butter me up by engaging in a bit of personal conversation.
Sorry, lady!
I don't reward bad service.
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