Ask any service worker in America if they think their neighbors are good tippers, and nine times out of 10 the question will be met with a groan of resentment.
I worked as a waiter through high school and college at a suburban Bob Evans along the highway outside of Columbus, Ohio. And then I waited tables at a bar by the White House throughout my first year out of college until the coronavirus lockdowns shut it down. After seven years of taking orders, I feel comfortable to speak for just about anyone who’s ever been a tip-based worker when I say few things are more infuriating than putting up with demanding customers, overbearing bosses, and laborious grunt work only to wind up stiffed by a table that came up with some sorry excuse not to drop a few extra dollars for the service. Thanks for the loose change from your glove box a-hole, it might even cover part of my bus ticket.
Most Americans acknowledge that, one way or another, our culture has a tipping problem. Either too many people have their hand out, including even the machines as Federalist Editor Kylee Griswold pointed out last year, or hustling waiters not making enough in tips to justify the eight-hour workout (or sometimes 12) that is waiting tables. A majority of Americans, meanwhile, tip 15 percent or less for an average meal at a sit-down diner, according to the Pew Research Center. Perhaps people who wish to virtue signal
