the generous stranger.

The concept of earning a living by waiting tables is a weird one. You wear a uniform, spend an hour or so with some people you've never met, trying to keep them happy while relying on factors that you have little to no control over, and at the end of it all, they decide how much you are worth. And you live on that.

Some people are schmucks or don't know any better and are lousy tippers. Some servers are schmucks and deserve lousy tips. Most people are decent folks and don't create too much of a hassle for you before leaving you an acceptable gratuity. Then there are some tables that just click!, where you're charming and the food is just right, and they're all ready to slaughter the fatted calf if only you'd come home with them. Basically, you can often predict your own tip based on how the dining experience has progressed before the check is dropped.

And then there is the Generous Stranger.

The Generous Stranger is the one who overtips for no apparent reason. Something you did struck that guy just right and you didn't even know it. The meal went fine, nothing spectacular, and you foresaw maybe seventeen percent. But then you're left with something like thirty or fifty percent, and you have no idea why. These are the kind of reassurances you need in your job, a stranger who owes you nothing and expects nothing in return saying, hey, good job there, tiger.

Now that I'm on the other side of the apron, I like to be the Generous Stranger. I remember my days in the trenches, when some days it was those mysterious people who were the only things that kept my head up. I eat alone a lot and like to be left alone for the most part. At the same time, if I need something, I don't want to have to sit quietly, looking forlorn while my server is somewhere else. It's a difficult balance, but some people nail it. Those servers refill my tea without disturbing me, and if they have to ask me something, they do it quietly and apologetically, as if they were interrupting. They are not pushy, nor do they try to be my buddy.

It's such an easy role to play, particularly when you eat alone. On a $10 check, it's only three extra dollars to go from a twenty percent tip to a fifty, and you're a hero. It's even easier at some greasy spoon where the check is five bucks and the waitress is sweet but looks like she could use some dental work. Servers don't think so much in dollars as they do in percentages when they look at their tips.

Someday, if ever I make it to a status of ridiculous wealth, I'm going to take the Generous Stranger to the extreme. I'm going to leave a hundred dollars or something crazy for a ten dollar check. I'm not just going to make someone's day, I'm going to make someone's year. They'll be telling that story to their grandkids, how some crazy old woman came in, had a tuna sandwich and left a crisp, clean C-note. They'll wonder what it is they did or if I was hitting on them or if maybe I thought I was leaving a Washington instead of a Benjamin. I delight in the idea of leaving that kind of wonder in my wake.

I am the Generous Stranger.