Automatic gratuity is there to protect the staff (and the business). Because large parties are an extra burden to bear. Because if one person’s section is bogarted by a large party, their night is sink-or-swim based on your “charity”. Because the number one reason service staff will have a breakdown or spontaneously quit their job is getting screwed on a large bill.

Cue this one high-maintenance sort and his family of twelve. Despite their best efforts to run me ragged, everything went super smooth and genial. Then came the bill.

Customer #1: “Uhh, excuse me, but why is there 18% gratuity? I’d like to write in my own tip.”

Me: “And you can! There’s a line below where can add whatever you’d like on top of the gratuity, and it’s much appreciated.”

Customer #1: “No, no, no. I’m talking about the principle! I always tip above 20%, but having it forced on the customer feels unfair.”

Me: *Playing coy* “Well, if you wanted to tip above 20%, you can just add the 2% or whatever on the tip line underneath.”

Customer #1: “It’s the principle!”

I just thanked him and walked away. He sat there stewing for fifteen minutes while his family was polishing off desserts and gathering their things to leave. It was a situation best ignored until they leave.

And sure enough, he had signed the bill with no extra tip — totally shocking — but managed to write out an entire novel on the front and back of his bill, addressed to the owner, detailing why automatic gratuities are the worst thing ever and how much more he would have tipped if it wasn’t an imposition.

One of my first service jobs was at a corporate place where the gratuity was conditional on large parties, and at best you could only ASK the party for permission to apply it. Most said it was fine, but of course, that wasn’t always the case.

One night, my entire section was cordoned off for a large party of twenty, mostly teenagers, and they did obnoxious things like ordering steaks well done, eating half of them, and then complaining they wanted new ones, or asking for extra drinks when I was explicit about no free refills but still complaining when the bill came, etc. I was gutted because I knew what was coming with the $400 bill.

Me: “Hey, you guys cool if we add a gratuity?”

Customer #2: “What’s that?”

Me: “It’s an 18% tip added to the bill to ensure staff—”

Customer #2: “Nah, it’s cool, we got you.”

I let out a long sigh and put my head down in shame. They left me $15. My tip-out on the party was $20, and I would never screw the rest of staff, so I took a net loss of $5 for the night. I was shaking and ready to quit. Managers basically said, “Bummer, but it’s life. See you tomorrow.”

I didn’t work there for much longer.

I am female, and it’s hotter than Hades where I’m from. I don’t like my natural hair, so I shaved it one summer. I got lots of mixed reactions from different people, most of them positive, with the occasional rude person who thought I looked like a boy even though I wear makeup and am well-endowed. This takes the cake, though.

I was sitting in a coffee shop waiting for my boyfriend and his sister, and I had already ordered and been complimented by the barista. One woman got her drink, spotted me, and clutched her hand to her chest with a soft, “Oh!”

Woman: “You are such an inspiration, dear! Was it hard, battling the cancer?” 

Me: “Um, I don’t have cancer. I just have my hair like this because I like it this way.” 

Woman: *Chuckles* “Oh, sweetie, there’s no need to pretend! Was it very difficult? What kind was it?” 

Me: “I’m serious; I’ve never had cancer. Some girls just like their heads shaved, and I’m one of them.” 

The woman huffed and stormed away. I later overheard her talking on the phone about “that poor girl with the shaved head”. I told my boyfriend and his sister about it, and they both agreed she was either nuts or trying to be a good person and thought I was being stubborn.

I went to a restaurant. The server VERY confidently started telling me about the “peanut griggeos” and “heffy-weezens” they had on the drink menu.

He also tried to tell me that “pesto” meant it had chicken in it.

I work the morning shift in a small restaurant. Two of the wait staff call in sick and, of course, we have an unusually large breakfast rush.

The manager steps forward to help serve tables, but we are still slow at getting to everyone. One particular family — a husband, wife, and two teenage children — is very understanding. When I apologize for the delay in simply bringing them the orange juices and coffees and taking their orders, they wave this off.

Customer: “You are obviously busy today. You’re doing great.”

This started a domino effect. The people at the table next to them heard and, when I brought out their order a few minutes later, they made a point of thanking me and sympathizing over how busy we were.

The table next to THEM also spoke up in my support and in support of my manager, who was working just as hard. It literally went like this in a near-perfect circle around the room, with everyone chiming in.

I don’t know if we were blessed with an unusually kind group of people or if it was some sort of bizarre example of peer pressure, but it was wonderful. Everyone left a good tip. That family that started the Dominoes of Niceness falling? They left nearly a 50% tip.

I was working at a restaurant for six months on probation. Lawfully speaking, if a restaurant wants a person to continue working, they are obliged to provide a full contract to the employee; otherwise, they are breaking labor law. However, most companies get around this by “goading” an employee into quitting if they don’t want them by slashing hours or scrutinizing their work meticulously. It’s a scumbag tactic and this restaurant is no exception.

It’s a late Saturday afternoon and I am due to finish at 6:00 pm. Our supervisor, who is the biggest brown nose you will ever meet, has talked non-stop about his friends who are out on the town this night, directly implying that he wants to go out with them even though he is closing. He knows that I am busy on Saturday evenings with my own podcast, so he hasn’t asked me if I would be interested in closing. At 5:50 pm, the following message appears on our Facebook group.

Restaurant Manager: “[Supervisor], you can leave at 6:00. [My Name] will close tonight.”

For the record, I would have happily considered closing, if I were asked. But now I feel that I am being forced to so the supervisor can have a good night, so I decide to stand up for myself.

Me: “No, I cannot close tonight. I’m busy.”

Restaurant Manager: “[Supervisor] is not feeling so good, [My Name], and nobody else knows how to close. You haven’t had many hours recently, either, so you can close tonight and make up for them.”

Me: “And that’s my problem, because? You decided to cut my hours this month, and even if I closed tonight — which I am not doing — I would be looking at only two hours, tops, if we’re lucky. It would not make any difference to the hours I normally did before. Sorry, [Restaurant Manager], but I am not closing.”

Restaurant Manager: “What are you doing tonight, then, [My Name]? Going out?”

Me: “Not that it is relevant, but I actually have a podcast lined up.”

Restaurant Manager: “Nobody cares about your stupid videos, [My Name].”

Now I’m DEFINITELY not doing it.

Me: “Do you honestly believe that saying stuff like that is supposed to encourage my decision? It has, just not in the way you want. I am leaving in five minutes, as my shift ends at 6:00 pm.”

Restaurant Manager: “[My Name], if you leave at 6:00 pm despite being told to stay, you will not get your tips for this week.”

Me: “Hmm, yeah, I really think that’s not happening. I’ll tell you what. Let me offer you a different choice. How about I still leave at 6:00 pm, I still get my tips, and you get the benefit of my silence when I do not report this conversation to my union. How does that sound?”

I had applied and joined a union when I started because of a previous issue that happened exactly like this. The restaurant manager had no choice but to keep the supervisor on that night, which he hated me for, but honestly, I couldn’t have cared less. I left that job the next week and entered a new job that I love.