By Jason Lim
Apparently, English coffeehouses in the 18th century set out urns labeled “To Insure Promptitude.” Shortened, it spelled, “TIP.” Kind of makes sense when you think about it. Pay more if you want your coffee faster.
Today, I went to hamburger restaurant with old friends that I haven’t seen in a while. Like so many restaurants in the post-COVID era, this establishment operates with a self-serving system where you order using a touchscreen, clicking through the menu to get what you want. But there is always a lingering fear that you did something wrong and will end up getting something that you didn’t want or scolded by your son for messing up the order. I miss humans.
But that fear doesn’t compare to the mix of anxiety, guilt, resentment, and double guessing that occurs when I encounter the tip screen with the options that lay out from 18 percent to 25 percent in innocuous looking text, followed by “NO TIP” in capital letters framed in a bold box. No matter how often you encounter these automated tip prompts, you end up going through a very complicated set of questions and answers about not only whether to tip but how much to tip.
Some of the anxiety is attributed to the natural change management process of adapting to the new reality. This involves transitioning away from the traditional tipping norms established pre-COVID when tipping typically ranged between 15 percent and 20 percent of the total bill and was directed solely to the waiter or waitress in a sit-down restaurant. So, when you are confronted with an option to tip for take-out service or someone in the back kitchen putting your hamburger together, you are constantly asking yourself whether such service deserves a tip. The guilt comes from the fact that we just emerged from the pandemic when service industry workers were the ones most impacted by the sudden pause in economic activities, while also being the first ones exposed to COVID since many of them couldn’t afford to work remotely. So, maybe this is a compensation for those workers who kept the world going while the rest of us hid in our homes.
The resentment comes from multiple sources. The primary source of resentment lies in the entire system that fails to provide workers with a living wage, making it difficult for them to sustain themselves with the earnings from their jobs. This also comes from the mentality that TIP is something that you give for a service or job that goes beyond expectations. It’s like a reward. So, when it becomes something that’s ubiquitous, expected, and almost demanded as a part of the whole transaction, then you feel tricked. In that case, instead becoming something that makes you feel good and magnanimous, tipping makes you feel duped. You end up feeling like the chump. This shift in dynamics deprives you of the expected dopamine hit that comes from the satisfaction of being generous to someone else.
Another source of resentment is the in-your-face nature of requesting tips. Tipping used to be a personal affair, a barometer of the private rapport that you built up with your server over the course of a meal. It wasn’t something that was done before the rendering of the said service in full view and preemptive awareness of the person rendering that service. Tipping transforms into a preemptive action, resembling a bribe to secure good service from the server or as a precautionary measure in fear of receiving subpar service. This is especially salient in food delivery in which tipping beforehand is one of the keys to getting prompt delivery, as these delivery app companies unabashedly instruct the potential customers. In such instances, tipping requests come across as a form of coercion or blackmail, implying that a gratuity is necessary to ensure good service. Even in the traditional case of sit-down restaurants, some of them now use mobile payment systems in which you have to finalize a tip amount while the server is holding the tablet in front of you in a type of an emotional hold up situation.
Most of all, I don’t like the double guessing that I always end up doing with tip amounts. Human beings don’t like decision making. Dealing with choices is cognitively fatiguing for us. We say we like options, but that’s mostly a lie. We like rules, norms, and being told what to do. So, how much money do I tip that guy who’s putting that hamburger together for me in the kitchen? How much money do I tip that server who must have just packed up my food that I am picking up? How much money do I tip that delivery guy who drove through the rain to get me my food? How about snow? How do these services compare to the traditional tip percentage of sit-down meals?
Ultimately, tipping is hard because it’s emotionally and cognitively complicated and fatiguing. You are being asked to rate and reward a necessarily unequal social dynamic that’s happening in real time in a variety of different contexts. You are literally quantifying the value of a temporary relationship formed over a material transaction and feeling judged for your generosity or parsimony
Jason Lim (jasonlim@msn.com) is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture. The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not reflect The Korea Times’ editorial stance.
To Insure Promptitude (T.I.P.)
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15.01.2024
By Jason Lim Apparently, English coffeehouses in the 18th century set out urns labeled “To Insure Promptitude.” Shortened, it spelled, “TIP.” Kind of makes sense when you think about it. Pay more if you want your coffee faster.
Today, I went to hamburger restaurant with old friends that I haven’t seen in a while. Like so many restaurants in the post-COVID era, this establishment operates with a self-serving system where you order using a touchscreen, clicking through the menu to get what you want. But there is always a lingering fear that you did something wrong and will end up getting something that you didn’t want or scolded by your son for messing up the order. I miss humans.
But that fear doesn’t compare to the mix of anxiety, guilt, resentment, and double guessing that occurs when I encounter the tip screen with the options that lay out from 18 percent to 25 percent in innocuous looking text, followed by “NO TIP” in capital letters framed in a bold box. No matter how often you encounter these automated tip prompts, you end up going through a very complicated set of questions and answers about not only whether to tip but how much to tip.
Some of the anxiety is attributed to the natural change management process of adapting to the new reality. This involves transitioning away from........
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