Arwin arrived early at the bus loop and decided that he had enough time to grab a coffee before his bus left. Luckily, his favourite coffee shop was located on the edge of the loop.
He had to swerve around a pile of manure in front of the cafe. A mounted police officer’s horse stood nearby, the tall, beautiful, chestnut steed quietly munching at a clump of grass errantly growing out of a crack where the sidewalk met the parking lot.
Arwin passed through the front doors and smiled. As always, the smell of delicious, roasted coffee beans filled the air, along with hints of cinnamon, hazelnut and chocolate. It lifted his spirits. The interior of the shop was what Arwin loved most about the place. Someone had brilliantly designed the inside of the shop as a blend of cafe and library. Warm, dark woods and heavy, gray stone permeated. Wide windows allowed lots of natural light to flood in. Bookshelves ringed the cafe along two and a half walls and were used as dividers between seats. The many books covered a variety of subjects and styles, from fashion to fiction, travel to philosophy. All were free to use. A big fireplace dominated one wall. The fireplace was quiet now, but in winter real logs blazed within, bathing the surrounding leather couches in heated bliss and delivering the nostalgic smell of burning wood.
Although the place was somewhat busy, it was not too loud. Ribbons of thick, colourful fabric hung in elegant loops from the ceiling, dampening sounds. Thus the place maintained a peaceful air despite the myriad conversations taking place around steaming beverages in white mugs. Cheerful greetings came regularly from stylish baristas in black and pink uniforms behind the main counter as they took and filled orders.
He recognized the girl at the second register; because he was a regular here, he knew her a bit. Her name was Mia and she was a lover of anime and cosplay and chemistry. She was friendly and chatty and worked really hard at her job. She had thick glasses and her dark hair was pulled over in two, pink-tipped ponytails that both draped over the left side of her head. Arwin lined up at her register, as he almost always did.
He noticed the red-uniformed rider of the horse standing in line for the washroom, looking rather uncomfortable. Apparently the mountie had a manure situation of his own to deal with, but because humans weren’t as free to leave their droppings about as horses were, he was forced to wait in line, awkwardly dancing in one spot while a frenzied mother tried to hustle her three, misbehaving kids through the toilet first.
Arwin glanced again at his phone, very conscious of the time. Maybe he shouldn’t be risking a stop for coffee. Maybe he should be playing it safe and waiting at the bus stop. After all, if he missed that bus, the next wouldn’t be along for another thirty minutes and that would make him late for his interview. He anxiously tapped his phone on his leg and looked at how many people were ahead of him, guessing how long this would take. He hummed and hawed but decided to remain in line as he was already there. He pulled a reusable travel mug from his bag, ready to hand it over when he ordered.
A middle-aged couple entered the shop and came to stand in line behind Arwin, their arms entwined.
“So, what are you gonna have?” the man asked the woman, who was presumably his wife. He was tall and heavy of build, with a massive gut that strained the buttons on his plaid shirt.
His wife was almost as thickly, but more softly, padded and seemed to be wearing an entire pallet of makeup. She tilted her head and looked up at the menu above. “Hum. I don’t know… I like the macchiato but I always have the macchiato. Maybe I should have a tea.”
“Thought you said you wanted coffee, Nance,” the husband grunted. Presumably Nance was short for Nancy. Because who name their child Nance?
“I did. I do. I don’t know…”
“Lookee there. The special is cherry chocolate latte. Apparently some spring thing.”
“Looks too sweet.”
“I like sweet.”
“I know you do, Bob.” The lady chuckled. She patted his voluminous stomach.
The customer in front of Arwin moved away from the register and Arwin stepped up to order.
“Hey, Arwin!” Mia flashed her pearly smile at him and held a hand out for his reusable cup, expecting it; she knew his order without having to ask.
He smiled back. “Busy, huh?”
Mia handed him the payment machine. “A bit. What’s with the tie? Event at school?”
Arwin swiped his payment card and entered his PIN. “I’m not teaching today. Job interview. Not getting enough hours so I need to find a full-time job somewhere else.”
“Aw. But you love teaching. Can’t get on full time on any school board?”
“I’ll keep an eye out. The instant anything comes up, I’ll apply. Hopefully the new job will just be temporary.”
From behind Arwin, Bob stepped closer to the counter to get a look at the sign for cherry chocolate lattes. He glanced at the payment machine in Arwin’s hand. He grunted. “What? No tip?”
Arwin glanced up in surprise. “What?”
Bob pointed at the machine. “No tip,” he repeated, voice indignant.
Arwin half shrugged and half shook his head.
Refusing to be ignored, Bob continued. He edged closer, getting right into Arwin’s personal space. “Seriously? You’re not gonna leave a tip for the girl?”
Arwin shook his head and handed the payment machine back to Mia.
Nancy spoke up too. “What’s that, Bob?”
Bob turned to his wife with a smirk on his lips. “Guy here ain’t tipping the barista.”
“Really? Oh go on, give her a couple bucks,” Nancy advised Arwin.
“Actually, I don’t tip,” Arwin told them.
The smile left the man’s face. “Whaddya mean you don’t tip?”
Arwin put his wallet away. “Sorry, I’d like to chat but I have to be somewhere.”
But Bob wouldn’t move out of the way. “No no. Explain. What d’you mean you don’t tip?” he demanded.
Arwin hesitated before giving in. “Well, I think it’s a bad practice. And by not tipping, I hope we can change culture for the better.”
“What?” Nancy gasped.
Bob chortled. “Listen to Mr. White over here. The reservoir dog thinks tipping is wrong.”
Nancy was far less amused. She spoke sternly, shaking a sausage-like finger in his face. “She just served you with a smile. She was very nice to you. You don’t think she deserves a tip?”
Arwin held up his hands in defence and smiled, hoping to ease the tension out of the situation. “I think she was very nice. But people are nice in lots of jobs and don’t get tipped for it.”
Nancy frowned. “This is a tough job!”
Arwin nodded agreeably. “Absolutely, it’s a tough job. I sympathize. But what job isn’t tough? And most people don’t get tipped. Isn’t it a little unfair that some people get tipped and not others?”
Bob spoke in a superior tone of voice, as if he needed to explain the obvious to an idiot. “We tip, boy. That’s what society expects. Everyone does it.”
Arwin bowed his head. “I totally understand the desire to fit in. But what if a common practice is not the best practice? Maybe there’s a better way to do things.”
“Fuck me,” Bob scoffed. “Trying to justify not tipping. You’re a real asshole.”
“So what makes tipping so wrong?” Nancy asked. From her tone, she obviously believed that such a thing was impossible.
“OK,” Arwin replied, “for one thing, there’s something seriously crazy about leaving a tip on a drink that’s ninety percent profit. I mean, we’re already dropping six or seven bucks on a single drink and we’re expected to pay even more?”
“Price has nothing to do with it,” Bob interjected. “You tip even at a five-star restaurant.”
“Well,” Arwin continued, undeterred, “it’s commonly thought that tipping improves service quality. It doesn’t. Studies have shown this. It’s not a motivational tool. Actually, we’re blackmailing people into doing their jobs better by holding their wage ransom unless we’re happy with everything they do. All that does is put all the power in the customer’s hands and forces the server to take abuse from us or risk not being paid, like they’re slaves. It puts the server into an unfair position. Frankly, it’s cruel: bad for their self esteem and general emotional health.”
Bob rolled his eyes. “Blackmail, huh?”
Their conversation was now starting to hold up the line for one of the two cashiers and attracting a bit of attention. The other staff behind the counter were listening and glancing over as they worked. Even a few customers had taken note and were eavesdropping.
Garnering increasing attention, Arwin felt the need to explain further. “By encouraging tipping, owners are actually trying to pay their staff less and profit more. They want the customer to pay the server’s salary so that they don’t have to. But it’s not a dependable wage. That means that servers come into work with no idea of how much money they’re going to earn that day. At every other job we demand to know exactly what our salary is. But servers have to gamble, not knowing if they’re going to have enough to make rent, constantly living in a cloud of financial insecurity. It’s completely unfair to them.”
“Not all servers are worried about money,” Bob said.
“Nope,” agreed Arwin. “Some don’t. Look at Mia.”
Everyone glanced at the girl. She flushed bright red and looked down.
Arwin grinned. “Mia’s great. She’s friendly and fun. It’s a highlight of my day whenever I come in here. I’m so thankful for her cheerfulness and awesome attitude. If she ever needed anything from me, a favour or something, I’d jump to it, no problem.”
“So fucking tip her then,” Bob growled.
“What’s your point?” Nancy demanded with a frown. She evidently didn’t like this train of conversation.
“The point is, she’s great. I’ll bet she gets a lot in tips. But what about everyone else working here? What about the servers who are just as sweet and work just as hard but aren’t as popular for some other reason?” Arwin asked. “I don’t think it’s fair that you should earn less at the job because of, say, your gender or what you look like.”
“Yeah!” exclaimed a very thin and plain female barista using the espresso machine.
“I totally agree,” added a male cashier with facial piercings.
Mia reluctantly nodded, a bit sheepishly. “Yeah. He’s right. I do make a lot more than most of the others. It’s not really fair, I guess. We do pool and share tips though.” She handed Arwin the drink he’d ordered.
The male cashier shrugged one shoulder. “Although I’d rather just have a higher wage. I mean, I’m gonna make less if I’m not on the same shift as some of the girls here. It would be nice if my salary wasn’t based on how my coworkers look. Or how I look. What’s that got to do with how well I do my job?”
Coffee in hand, Arwin glanced at his phone. Time was running out. He really should be going if he was going to be at the bus stop on time. “Servers deserve better. If we all stopped tipping, then wouldn’t owners be forced to start paying their staff better? Wouldn’t that make most servers happier in the long run?”
Unfortunately, Bob looked completely fed up with Arwin’s argument. He angrily pointed at Mia with a fat finger while glaring at Arwin. “Ok, smart guy. Enough of your shit. Your girl was nice. She made your coffee and she did it with a smile. Just give her the fucking tip and stop trying to justify being a cheap son of a bitch.”
Mia raised her hands in protest. “Hey, I’m fine without it. Really. I mean, he comes in here, like, all the time. Which means I have a job. Honestly, that’s fair. And he’s always the nicest guy when he comes in. Besides,” she blushed, “I kind of agree with him.”
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