Yesterday a guest actually apologized for handing me a $5 tip.
“I realize it’s not much,” he sheepishly added, “but hopefully you can find something to do with it.”
My answer was simple. A $5 tip isn’t a small gratuity.
It is a mortgage payment.
It is a meal on my family’s table. (During which they will no doubt refer to me as “Butt Boy”, “Baldie”, “Skippy” or any of a number of “pet names”.)
It is yet another installment that can be applied to my “Hire A Thug To Beat Kevin Smith Senseless and Strip That Damn Jersey Off His Fatman Frame and Burn The Rest of His Not-so-Secret Stash” fund.
It is a portion of my daughter’s allowance – which she uses to buy movie tickets, or iPod thingies or whatever crap kids are into these days.
It is a comic book – which I can read during the long stretches of downtime that threaten to rot my brain. Incidentally, when I started reading comics they were only thirty-five-cents. Seriously!
(And yes, I realize I am officially my grandfather. Thank you very much for pointing that out.)
Five dollars, or any gratuity for that matter, is a blessing which I must never, ever take for granted, lest I become that which I hate the most: An ungrateful, spiteful, bitter, disconnected douchecopter, much like that arrogant, ignorant, homophobic, filthy-rich redneck Phil Robertson.
(I am trying to be a more positive person, I swear, but the Robertson clan and those greedy jackals at A&E and Simon & Schuster really burn my biscuits with their cavalier attitude towards human dignity and respect.)
In short, folks, a new year has dawned and with it an opportunity to recharge my batteries and look at the world through new eyes. Even if they are 15,705.4 days old.
Wish me luck, won’t you?
Well, that’s all I have for you today, kids. Hit that weekend like a Kardashian at an all-you-can-soul-buffet.
See you in the lobby…