#49 - Only the Glow of Itself

Lucy in the Sky; Reasons to Return; Never a Nickel

Hello, my friends,

Here we are in the middle of winter. For Ashley’s birthday last week, her sister sent over an edible arrangement of chocolate-covered strawberries. For that reason, I share with you this haiku by Dakotsu Iida (1885-1962) from Anthology of Modern Japanese Poetry translated by Edith Marcombe Shiffert and Yūki Sawa (Charles E. Tuttle Company, 1972):

The dead volcano's
chilly surface--and also
wild strawberries.

“Still Life with Strawberries” by Wako Ito

Lucy in the Sky

All these years later, I still remember the details of shopping for Ashley’s engagement ring. The shops that I went to, the conversations with jewelers, and the diamonds themselves! To prepare, I read a book about diamonds so I could understand the product. I hadn’t really shopped for jewelry before, much less the expensive, brilliant kind so I had little sense of what to expect at stores. Much to my delight, the majority of salespeople were friendly and helpful — which makes sense since they were selling a useless luxury good in an area with no lack of competition. That said, I also think that some of the people I ran into just wanted to teach a young man a few things. One store in Burbank invited me to the back of their shop to look at diamonds through a microscope. A microscope! Not a 10x loupe, not one of this ridiculous oversized 3x loupes that dishonest salespeople will give you. They put rocks under there that were both in and out of my price range and helped me see the differences. I really wanted to buy from them but what they had didn’t quite fit my criteria.

Shopping for a diamond was both social and spreadsheet. I went to a bunch of stores, wrote down the stats of what they had within a fairly narrow range of carat weight that Ashley and I had discussed, and considered what would be the most beautiful option I could afford. Truly, towards the end of my time visiting shops, I didn’t need the spreadsheet. I just went into shops, asked them if they had X, Y, and Z. If not, I didn’t dawdle (no matter how much they wanted to show me something else), I just went to the next place. If they had what some options, I reveled in examining them (diamonds are sublime). At the same time, trying to understand the market was fascinating. Why was a diamond priced a certain way? I learned about the Rapaport Price List (because one of the shopkeepers showed me!) and began to understand a little about how much leeway dealers had.

Mostly, though, I just enjoyed chatting with the folks at stores (also swatting away the few high-pressure sales guys and liars I encountered) and looking at diamonds. All this with the glorious knowledge that my mission was on behalf of someone else; Ashley would be wearing what I chose for a very long time, so it had better be just right. Contrary to the way I make most major purchases (using a spreadsheet to sort which option had all the relevant features for the lowest price), this one was about selecting the most stunning subset of options that could fit within the budget. It was about maximizing beauty rather than minimizing cost.

I was reminded of those halcyon days because I recently spent time in jewelry shops in search of just the right necklace for Ashley’s birthday. Again, the experience was enjoyable, though certainly not as extended as the engagement ring search. Interacting with a skilled salesperson is like watching a magician at work; I know magic doesn’t exist and I certainly won’t buy something I’m not sure about or that’s out of my price range, but the craft is still impressive. Probably I’ll write about that some other time.

“Untitled” (1967) by Mary Corse

Reasons to Return

As a customer service adept and connoisseur I’m always looking out for exemplars of the same. A few days ago, I stopped by a new coffee/boba shop in my neighborhood for a coffee, pastry, and a few minutes of quiet reading time. The coffee was average, the pastry was decent, the seats aren’t too comfortable, but I’ll be back. Here’s why:

• The barista greeted me as I walked in. Not a throwaway hi imposed by management but a pause, eye contact, and hello. He also listened as I spelled my name out and got it right! Doesn’t seem so special but I’m “Olge” too often not to give credit where it’s due. He also said my name after typing it into his tablet. “It’ll be ready in a minute, Oleg.”

• As I sat and waited for my order, the owner of the shop came in and took over the register. Several high school kids came in. He knew all their names. He joked with them. The place opened three months ago and there were already regulars.

• My order was at the counter. “Here you go, Oleg! Enjoy!” the barista said, completely present.

• More customers came in. The owner knew the pastries they liked but they were out. No worries. He had a light conversation with each person asking real questions and showing interest in the answers.

• Overheard the owner explaining that they opened at 8:30a daily, except for one day every week when they open at 8a because the local teens started school at a different time. I noted his knowledge of the community and willingness to make a small change for the convenience of a few youngsters.

• When I came back up to the counter to order a to-go drink for Ashley, he took my order and asked for my name. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” Yes, I’d been there in the middle of a weekday two weeks ago for just long enough to order and receive a decaf espresso and a cookie. The owner had been busy making drinks. Yet, somehow he took notice and remembered!

• Ashley’s drink and scone was up: “See you next time, Oleg!” They said my name three times in the twenty or twenty-five minutes I was there. It’s the personal and personable attention.

It’s not any of these things individually but together they tell a story of a place where the drinks aren’t what brings people in. Why should people choose this place when there are at least half-a-dozen places to get coffee and two other places to get boba within five minutes? Simple, because I can be another anonymous customer at those places, but here I can be myself.

“To All of My Calling Your Name” (1962) by Corita Kent

Never a Nickel

Yesterday I was in the mood for a burger so I went online and ordered food to pick up from The Habit Grill, a fast casual chain founded in Santa Barbara, CA, USA. At the end of the transaction I was given the option to tip and chose 15%, which ended up being five or six dollars. I received a text that the food was ready, drove over, went inside and grabbed the bag with my name on it from the pick-up area and came home. The question I pondered on my way to The Habit Grill was a fundamental one: Why did I tip?

It’s not the money itself, six bucks is negligible in the long run, but the principal. Who did I tip and what service did they provide? Since I ordered online, I can only assume that the money is divided automatically and disbursed to the crew working during that time, but I can’t be sure since I didn’t speak to a single person during the transaction. The service provided was packing the meal and walking the bag over to the pick-up stand. One doesn’t typically tip the cooks so it had to be those things. Do those impersonal services really fit into the spirit of tipping? I’m skeptical.

Being the studious type, I consulted age-old, tried-and-true sources and was interested to learn that, at least in the United States, tipping has not changed in at least one hundred years. In Emily Post’s Etiquette (1922), the author writes, “It is true that tips have become somewhat higher than they used to be. The ten percent rule of yesterday is today at least fifteen and sometimes even twenty!” No mention of tipping protocol for carry-out online orders, however. Modern Manners: Etiquette for All Occasions (1958) by Carolyn Hagner Shaw provides guidance for tipping a wide assortment of service workers from elevator operators and busboys (“Nothing”) to Rest-Room Attendants (“Ten cents or 25 cents if handed a towel. More if other services are rendered.”) to cigarette girls (“Ten cents for one pack.”). For waiters (not headwaiters, mind you), she echoes Emily Post, 15-20% (“For example, 10 cents for a fifty cent check—never a nickel.”). Still no word on my situation. Amy Vanderbilt’s Complete Book of Etiquette: A Guide to Gracious Living (1957) does not add much to the points above, but I found the following quote so correct, I have to share it:

Whether or not we like the tipping system, we must consider that the wages of such employees are predicated on their receiving tips, that the tips are part of their salary and part of what we pay for the over-all service. To ignore someone usually tipped, unless he has been blatantly forgetful or rude, is to be unfair. Again, if the cost of going into such places must be minutely considered, we don't belong there at all.

While this applies for valet parking attendants, hotel concierges, and barbers, ie individuals offering you a personalized service where general tipping rules serve as both a reward and a motivation, I’m not sure I would apply the same rules for carry-out service, especially if the order is not taken by phone since there was no personalized service of any kind. But even when an order is taken at a counter, does punching an order into the register deserve a tip? Again, I’m skeptical. We don’t, after all, tip at the drive-through so why tip when standing at a counter?

Where this all became muddled is twofold: One, modern point-of-service systems — essentially tablet apps — automatically began to include a tipping feature at restaurants whether or not there is table service. Two, (over)tipping for carry-out was made acceptable by the knowledge that restaurants were closed indoors so staff was not receiving their typical cash-outs from an evening of waiting tables or tending bar. But COVID is no longer restricting indoor eating, so why should we continue tipping restaurant staff for shifting food from the kitchen to the pick-up shelf?

It’s a bit difficult to lay out this discussion logically without sounding like a skinflint when, in fact, I generally feel very good about tipping. For actual services rendered. I think where I get stuck is where tipping becomes rote and symbolic as it was in my situation of last night. Just as with everything else, all I ask is for all of us to tip mindfully. And, for Pete’s sake, never, ever a nickel!

“Sorting Laundry” (1927) by Stanley Spencer

Since you made it to the bottom, here’s another haiku as a reward. This one is by Shūōshi Mizuhara (1892-1981):

Winter chrysanthemum--
what it wears is
only the glow of itself.