Why does my bill total dictate the tip amount?
I previously commented about the expectation that customers should subsidize service workers and how employers should pick up the financial slack.
There’s another angle to this tipping concept that’s picking up traction.
Every time I’m presented with a bill that suggests a percentage-based tip, a fundamental question bubbles up: why? Why is the amount I’m expected to pay someone for their service directly tied to the cost of what I ordered, rather than the effort they expended?
It’s a system that defies common sense, and frankly, I’m tired of silently accepting its absurdity.
Consider the humble food delivery driver. A true modern-day hero, they say, navigating traffic and weather to bring sustenance to my door. Now, tell me, what fundamental difference does it make to their effort whether the bag they pick up contains a single burger or a feast for four? Absolutely none.
The physical act remains precisely the same: they drive to the restaurant, locate the order, pick up the bag, walk back to their car, drive to my address, and hand it over. Their mileage doesn’t increase because my bill is higher. Their time investment doesn’t magically multiply because I added an extra side of fries. Yet, under the prevailing percentage model, I’m expected to pay them significantly more if my order totals $70 than if it’s $7.
It begs the question: are we tipping for the service or are we simply subsidizing the cost of my meal, passing a percentage of my expenditure directly into the driver’s pocket without any correlation to their actual work? It’s a disconnect that I simply cannot reconcile.
The argument often shifts when we move to sit-down restaurants.
Here, the defense of percentage-based tipping usually pivots to the “amount of time” a server spends with you, or the “back and forth” they endure. Let me respond with polite exasperation: “boo hoo for walking,” indeed. Isn’t “walking back and forth,” taking orders, refilling drinks and bringing food an inherent, fundamental part of being a server? It’s the job. It’s what they’re paid (albeit often woefully little by their employers, a separate but related issue) to do.
If a server spends an extra five minutes chatting with me because I’m indecisive about my dessert, does that warrant a 20% increase on a $200 bill versus a $50 bill? The amount of “effort” in serving a table of four ordering expensive steaks isn’t necessarily four times the effort of serving a solo diner having an appetizer. The labor involved is not directly proportional to the price of the food or drink. This arbitrary link creates an unfair lottery for servers, where their earnings are tied not to their quality of service, but to the discretionary spending habits of their patrons.
And then there’s the particularly galling innovation of “pre-tipping.” This is where I’m asked to commit to a gratuity before any service has even been rendered. Before my fries are cooked, before my delivery order has even left the restaurant, I’m prompted to “reward” an act that hasn’t happened yet… to someone who hasn’t even been selected for the job.
Am I truly expected to dangle a carrot, a financial incentive, to ensure that someone does their job correctly? It turns the entire concept of a tip on its head. A tip, traditionally, was a reward for good service, a gesture of appreciation for effort above and beyond. Now, it’s a mandatory, pre-emptive payment, a prerequisite for the mere execution of a task. It feels less like a thank you and more like a bribe… or ransom.
It fundamentally shifts the power dynamic, creating an expectation that I must pay for the potential of service, rather than the delivery of it. This isn’t a tip; it’s a forced pre-payment for an uncertain future.
Which brings me to my ultimate, unwavering point: they’re not my employees. I’ve made this argument before.
Why am I expected to pay them? The business that employs these individuals – be it a restaurant, a delivery service or a coffee shop – is responsible for compensating their staff fairly. Their wages, their benefits, their livelihood should be a cost of doing business, factored into product pricing, not shunted onto the consumer as an unacknowledged surcharge.
For too long, the tipping system has allowed employers to abdicate their responsibility, paying sub-minimum wages under the assumption that tips will make up the difference. This creates an incredibly unstable income stream for workers, dependent on the whims, generosity and financial state of strangers. It also places an undue burden on me, the customer, to not only pay for the product or service, but also to subsidize the labor costs of a business I have no ownership in and no control over. I am not their manager, nor their payroll department.
My transaction should be with the business, for the value of their goods or services, not directly fund the wages of their staff.
The current tipping model, particularly its percentage-based iteration, is a relic in dire need of re-evaluation. It’s illogical, often unfair, and shifts the burden of employment costs from businesses to individual consumers. Whether it’s the delivery driver doing the exact same work for vastly different pay, the server whose effort is disproportionately rewarded based on menu prices, or the chilling absurdity of pre-tipping for services yet to be rendered, the system is fundamentally flawed.
It’s time we moved towards a more transparent, equitable system where workers are paid a living wage by their employers, and prices reflect the true cost of doing business, including fair labor.
Until then, I’ll continue to question why my burger count dictates the worth of a driver’s effort, and why I’m expected to act as an unappointed payroll clerk every time I open my wallet. It’s not about being ungenerous; it’s about demanding a system that makes sense.
