The Holiday Spirit

As the holiday season has come to a close, I find myself reflecting on what it has meant to me as a server.  To most, the holidays mean presents and family and all sorts of yummy, delicious food.  To me, and many of my fellow Hooters Girls it seems, the holidays mean walkouts and grumpy assholes and shitty tips.  It seems that while people are spreading all that holiday cheer they conveniently forget to extend any pleasantries to their server.

Everyone knows that people worry about money during the holidays.  Hell I worry about money too.  There are gifts to buy, parties to attend, friends to entertain and a million other little things that invariably cost money.  So you save money where you can so you can spend it on those holiday "necessities."  Unfortunately for me, one of the places you decide to save money is in your tip to your poor waitress.  Johnny NEEDS an Xbox 360; I get a shitty seven percent tip - if I'm a lucky of course.  Often, after you regale me with tales of your most epic shopping day, I find that there is nothing left for me on the table.  I can sit there and calculate the hundreds of dollars you spent as you tell me about the crowds at Best Buy and Target and the Mall.  Oh and here's you tip.  Wait, I spent that at Bath and Bodyworks.  Merry effing Christmas.

Of course, I'd rather have you leave a shitty tip than walkout on me.   If you tip me little to nothing I just make less money, but if you walkout on your tab I'll usually have to pay for it.  That's right, I get to pay my employer for the pleasure of serving your cheap ass.  So while you saved that $33.45 to spend on Grandma Sue, I paid that money for you.  I guess my grandma is not as important as your dear Grandma Sue.  How the hell did I miss that memo?  Oh and did I mention that my grandma survived the World War II eating tulip bulbs - literally.  Please feel free to feel like the jack-off you are.

What it all comes down to is that people are cheap during the holidays.  Trust me, I understand the desire to save money where you can.  However you being cheap means I don't get to enjoy my Christmas as much.  I'm not saying you should be overly generous, but a less than ten percent tip is quite frankly ridiculous.  It is especially ridiculous when I know I went above and beyond to provide you with exceptional service.  So while you save your money and have a fabulous Hooters experience, I figure out how I'm going to make enough money to see my family let alone give them gifts.

Really though, the question is if you can't afford to tip, or especially if you can't afford to pay you bill, then why are you eating out in the first place?  Oh, that's right you have to buy your children some opulent gift they'll probably forget about in the next month, but not at the cost of neglecting your addiction to fried shit.  Odds are that electronic, must-have, made in China gift is out of you price range too, but not at the cost of forgoing fried pickles and ranch.  I am no financial planner, but it seems to me that if a fifteen percent tip or a $40 meal is a stretch for you then you'd probably be better served getting a savings account and eating in. 

Happy 2010!

Fearing St. Nicholas

Yesterday began the first of my Christmases.  This is correct, Christmases.  You see I am of Dutch heritage.  I am so much of Dutch heritage that I have both a Dutch passport and a Green Card totting father with an accent.  I have wooden shoes and delft dishware and enjoy a nice wheel of Gouda cheese.  In addition to these Dutch traditions, I also celebrate St. Nicholas Day and consider this my first Christmas of the year.

In The Netherlands, Christmas itself is taken in its religious connotation.  It is not about presents, reindeer and portly, jolly old men.  Christmas is a time for church and family.  Instead, like many Europeans, the Dutch do their gift giving on St. Nicholas Day.  Now before I go on I would like to make it quite clear that St. Nicholas  - or Sinterklaas if you prefer a little Dutch in your life - and Santa Clause are not the same person.  St. Nicholas is not a synonym for Santa whatsoever.  In fact, when I was younger St. Nicholas was a frightening figure while Santa seemed to be a pretty awesome dude.  St. Nicholas was the ying to Santa's yang.

Here's the deal on St. Nicholas.  St. Nicholas is obviously a saint.  He was a pretty cool guy who had a tendency for leaving coins in people's shoes.  As such, over the years it became the tradition to place your shoes by the hearth to receive the saint's many gifts.  Now he's not just going to leave you shit; you have to do something for him in return.  So you leave hay or carrots in your shoes because the white horse St. Nicholas rides over the rooftops gets pretty effing hungry.  So if you're good, and you've left some treats for the pony, you'll get some presents and candy and all the good things that such holidays are meant to bring.  YAY!  If you're naughty though, instead of gifts you'll receive some sticks.  Now I'm sure none of this seems remotely frightening.  It's what comes after all the sticks that is really messed up.

If you get sticks this is a huge warning.  Basically, if you get the dreaded sticks you better shape your shit up or else what happens the next year will really, really suck.  If you are naughty the next year St. Nicholas's helper, Zwarte Piet (I'd explain what that means but I'll just tell you some would say it's somewhat politically incorrect), will scoop you up and drag you to Spain in a bag.  Once you get to Spain you will be forced to make toys for all the good kids for one year.  Way worse than coal in a stocking.

Don't worry, I never awoke to the dreaded sticks in my wooden shoes.  Rather I got epic things like an American Girl Doll.  Basically, St. Nicholas freaked the eff out of me, but luckily I was a fairly wonderful kid.  Years later, St. Nicholas is still sending me gifts.  Ironically, they come from my mom in big brown boxes right to my door.  Go figure.  This year however I have just moved and my mailbox is currently being rekeyed.  This has meant that my gifts, which were delivered on Saturday, have been just out of reach.  There is nothing worse than knowing your presents are there just waiting to be unwrapped and you can't get to them.  I feel like I'm twelve and I did the whole "can we open one present on Christmas Eve" thing and mom said no.  Not even fair.

Tomorrow I'll finally get in there and discover the awesomeness that awaits me.  I know it will contain a chocolate letter (it's tradition to receive the first letter of your name in chocolate) and other sorts of sweet goodness.  Luckily, it has been below zero thus preserving all my yummy treats within the confines of that metal mailbox.  Don't worry presents I'm coming!