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“I don’t know what to do about the tip.”
“I paid in cash,” I tell her. “I was going to just leave a tip on the table.”
Deklan had left me a thousand dollars in cash on the kitchen counter before he left, telling me to treat myself to some birthday shopping. I had told him it was an insane amount of money, but he just shrugged, suggested jewelry, and promised to bring me something back from the Windy City.
“I paid by credit card,” Kathy says. “It makes all the expense reporting easier when I get back, but that’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
“Tipping is supposed to be for your server, right? Not the owner or the guy who rings up the bill or whatever. Tip the server for really good service. I’m great with that. But if I’m paying the bill up front, before I even get my food, what the hell am I supposed to tip? Five percent? Ten? The default comes up at eighteen when you swipe your card. Cheeky bastards.”
She’s on a roll and not about to stop now.
“When I bought some peanuts on the plane—and don’t even get me started on buying plane peanuts—it came up asking what percentage I wanted to tip. Since when do you tip a flight attendant? Or does the attendant hand it over to the pilot? If the pilot crashes the plane and I live, can I get my tip back? Does the dude who loads the plane up with fuel get a cut? Where does it end?”
I tilt my head to one side and consider what she’s saying. I haven’t flown recently, and I think she’s got a pretty good point. Working at the coffee shop isn’t something I do for money, so I’ve never paid much attention to the tips.
“I always thought tipping was made up for mom and pop restaurants where the kids were the servers,” I say. “The parents couldn’t afford to pay their kids, so the customers did instead.”
“Where did you hear that?” Kathy narrows her eyes at me.
“I don’t know if I heard it anywhere,” I say with a shrug. “It’s just what I’ve always thought.”
“It kinda makes sense,” Kathy says with a nod. “I’ll check.”
On her phone, Kathy starts to google the origin of tipping but then is distracted by her food being placed in front of her. The guy who brings it doesn’t say a word, and when Kathy asks him where her drink is, he points out a self-service beverage dispenser.
“You see what I mean? I want my damn tip back.” She gets up from the table to retrieve her drink, and I try to keep my giggles in check.
When she returns with her iced tea, she’s still at it.
“And when did tipping become something everyone gets just for doing their jobs? I tip the hairdresser, the massage therapist, and now the flight attendants. I mean, who do I need to start tipping next? My gynecologist? Oh wow, your hands are nice and warm today! And the way you handle that speculum! I’m impressed! Here’s an extra twenty bucks!”
I can’t help it—I laugh out loud this time.
“Isn’t your gynecologist also your boss?”
“Irrelevant. Besides, I work for the clinic, not the doctor herself though she is my supervisor. You’re getting me off topic!”
“Tipping…warm speculums…I’m keeping up!”
“I told you about the peanuts, right?”
“Yep.”
It’s refreshing to be with Kathy. I’m not anxious, waiting to say or do something wrong. Even when it’s just me and Deklan, I sometimes still feel a little on edge. Everything is still so new, and it’s hard to have a conversation with a man who won’t talk about his work.
I feel like myself, and I’m completely relaxed for the first time since the marriage.
“Let’s go to the hotel,” Kath says as she finishes up her food. “There has to be a bar at the hotel.”
“It’s barely noon.”
“Then we shouldn’t have to deal with a crowd!”
“True.”
We have to bus our own table, which sends Kathy on another tipping rant that lasts for the entire ride to the hotel. Once we get there and check in, we dump our stuff in the room and head straight for the far end of the bar.
