Note: Kelly Kazek was so busy this week, what with all the new fall TV shows and all, that she couldn’t find time to write a fresh column for you good people. Bless her heart. So she is rerunning this column from 2004, which has thoughts in which she still strongly believes. On the one hand, she is hoping you don’t remember it and it seems shiny and new. On the other hand, she’s hoping it was so brilliant you couldn’t forget it, even after five years. Enjoy!
I am now accepting tips and I don’t mean those along the lines of “Your column stinks.”
I mean the green kind. The kind of tip that goes in the bank. The kind that has me eating my protein calories in steak rather than hamburger.
I’ve placed an empty jar beside my computer marked “Tips.” You can stop by the office any time between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m. and leave a dollar or 20.
Why should you tip me, you ask?
I ask right back: “Why not?”
I am ready to join the ranks of those people — while doing a job they were hired to do and get paid to do — feel the need to ask the general population to supplement their incomes with an extra buck or two, or maybe just the change from a dollar.
These employees, mostly those at coffee shops, food courts or those mini snack counters in book stores, don’t go as far as standing with their hands out after passing a cup of coffee across the counter. No, the hand-lettered T-I-P-S on the cup or jar by the register does it for them.
I was always under the impression that people were tipped for additional services such as bringing a meal to a table or carrying bags to the car. I never thought sliding my peanut butter fudge cookie across the counter was tip-worthy.
What — if I merely paid the price of the cookie but offered no tip, they would make me come around and get the cookie out of the case myself?
Before all you counter service people start calling me with tips that will likely burn my ears, keep in mind I am not speaking from a vacuum at the bottom of an empty tip jar.
I have worked as a waitress (these days the PC job title is “server.”)
It was hard work. In my opinion, no one should be allowed to carry credit cards, graduate from college or become a parent until they have experienced the joys of serving others their hold-the-onions-medium-rare-minus-pickles-and-could-you-put-the-sauce-on-the-side burgers.
But servers in restaurants weren’t merely supplementing their salaries with tips. Tips were part of our salaries. In 1987, I was paid $2.01 per hour to wait tables (minimum wage was about $4.85). The remainder of my income came from tips — and I paid taxes on them.
That’s not so with the girl behind the counter at Books-a-Million. What she does is called “her job” and she is paid to do it, regardless of tips.
What’s next? A tip jar at the checkout at Walmart?
What about the nurse who takes my blood pressure before the doctor arrives, or the guy who rotates my tires?
Maybe I should ask Tippi Hedren or Tip O’Neal. In the meantime, I do know one thing — I do not like to be asked for a tip.
No matter what the profession, tips should be given as thanks for exceptional service.
And just in case any of you think this column has served you exceptionally well, I’ll leave out my tip jar.
But I will more clearly label it: M-O-N-E-Y-F-O-R-C-H-O-C-O-L-A-T-E.
Kelly Kazek
Here's a tip: You have to earn your money
- Kelly Kazek
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Each generation contends with struggles
This generation of young people thinks art appreciation is LOLing at Google Doodles. They don’t know dictionaries and encyclopedias were items you used to have to actually hold on your laptop, and they could be really heavy.
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Whoever said it, it's still true
It’s a great feeling to have a daughter who holds a job, keeps her grades up, manages her own money and still takes time for fun with friends in a healthy balance. After she sat on the sofa during high school and watched two seasons of “The Jersey Shore,” I wasn’t so sure.
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Biography of Kelly Kazek
Kelly Kazek was born in Warner Robins, Ga., in whichever year adds up to her being 35.
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I was proud to be part of it
I am proud to serve on the committee that is helping make the memorial a reality and I wanted to thank everyone who was instrumental in the plan.
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In Athens, Ala., grease is the word ...
I think the festival is a great idea. On that day, we can unabashedly show our love for all things Southern, as well as all things Greek. That means we can eat fried macaroni-and-cheese bites while wearing togas, which, if twisted just right, can be very slimming. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.
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Most of us have no choice about work
I think our system has devolved to the point that all politicians, and by extension their families, are so wealthy they can’t truly have an understanding of the lives of ordinary people.
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I won! I won! I won! I won!
I made a decision a long time ago that I do not wish to win mega-millions. Nope, I’ll earn mine the old fashioned way: One sweat-stained penny at a time. I should reach a million by the time I’m, say, 142.
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If you’re stupid and you know it, clap your hands
And as the saying goes, “Ignorance of your own stupidity is probably a good thing,” or something like that.
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Imagine bringing own toilet paper to work
Humor writers rarely have the occasion to hear four sweeter words than “great toilet paper debacle,” but in the case of Trenton, N.J., a recent incident is more of a cause for sadness and reflection than ridicule and laughter.
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Machines don't understand Southern accents
... they are either not programmed to understand the subtleties of the Southern accent, or they’re programmed to drive us to therapy.
- More Kelly Kazek Headlines
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