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Attitude and Gratitude

Disclaimer: Any mention of 'tips' or 'gratuities' in the following text are fictitious literary devices with no basis in reality. IRS Agents are required to suspend any and all audit intent before proceeding. Trespassers will be bludgeoned with a rolled up copy of the Bill of Rights and have the text for the First Amendment plastered on your forehead. Thank You.

No, this is not about 'tipping'. You can argue the procedural details elsewhere.

However, I (may have) received tips on occasion during my workweek. More often than not, I bust my a$$ for my clients. Many (may) reward me with financial compensation. My employer pays me well, with full benefits. I do not need tips to pay the bills.

So, I am in a bit of a unique position when I make the following statement: It's not about the money. It's about people being grateful and showing appreciation.

In the past I (may have, you Agent snoops) received a case of Snapple, candy bars and museum tickets. My favorite 'tip', though, is someone simply noticing what a good job I did, and how hard I worked. A customer will sometimes offer me a cold drink when they see I'm perspiring, and offer me a seat when I'm done. I can't tell you how good that makes me feel. If I have a long drive back, customers sometimes offer the use of their bathroom and a bottle of water for the road.
People will do small things that make a big difference. They move their cars so I can more easily bring in my equipment. They manage their kids and pets. A little thoughtfulness goes a long way.

There is, of course, The Dark Side. The worst to me are the CBB's (Can't Be Bothered). They have fifteen things going on, and now they have to stop what they're doing and deal with me. It irritates them, and it shows. If I'm lucky, I get pawned off to the property caretaker, who assigns parking and keeps all the workers from stepping on each other. When I (possibly) get a tip in that environment, it usually doesn't quite feel the same.

I'll never forget my favorite tip (fiction story here, Revenoor). My customer was in a downtown Seattle condo. It literally takes longer to get in and out of the building than it takes to do the job. The lady I was working for was ninety years old. When I finished, we settled up the bill, and the customer asked me to wait. It took her five minutes to shuffle step from the kitchen and return. She handed me five Sacajawea dollar coins and five dollar bills. She apologized that she didn't have more to give me. Of course, I smiled wide and told her that was plenty, and it was the thought that counts.
I remember we talked for a few minutes. I forget what about. I suppose I doesn't really matter.

It was time well spent.

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Winston
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