I live in a large building on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. This means that every year I have to go to the bank and take out money to tip each building employee whether or not they have actually helped me. I tip some throughout the year for going above and beyond.
I always feel that if I tip less than a certain figure (and I have no idea what that should be as I’m one person who lives alone, but does have company, food and other things delivered) my good Karma for the next year will be destroyed.
I would rather tip the porters more and the super less since he makes at least 80K a year and a two bedroom apartment in a prime building. That he doesn’t like the apartment isn’t my fault. I don’t make as much as he does. I pay less than rent but more than most people would think each month for maintenance.
That I have to tip him each time somebody comes into my apartment to do something is sickening but he somehow rules the board of directors of my coop rather than being their (and my) employee.
I still have to give him at least $100 at Christmas. Then I have to tip each doorman and the porters. This sounds like I live in the lap of luxury. Hah!
I’m writing in my Oakley fleece sweat shirt–with hood on, sweatpants, warm socks and Uggs because there’s no heat and it’s freezing!
My building intercom receives calls but can’t always make them. Somehow like a toothache not hurting when you’re at the dentist, it always works when the supers here. He thinks I complain too much over nothing. Yet if he’s pressed to answer about my complaints would be forced to admit that I complain much less than most people.
I’m a single woman and he has no respect for single women. Fortunately his attitude hasn’t permeated to the rest of the staff who like me because I remember small details about their lives, always say hello, am friendly, and am a good resident who doesn’t make a habit of complaining.
And I properly recycle my garbage.
This all sounds so stupid, even to me, but a building is like a small village, and everybody knows everything. Not complaining about that; that’s life.
But when I go to the bank to take out over a thousand dollars for tips, it hurts! Not just my pocketbook, but everything. That’s a vacation. That’s money I could spend on gifts for people I love, including me, especially me.
I’ve always been of the one gift for somebody; one for me school. I read that’s newly fashionable. I’ve been doing it for years. However, due to inflated tip giving I can’t be generous to myself and every magazine will tell you that the first person you should care about is yourself.
That’s not the real reason I’m angry. I’m angry because I resent having to give as much as a family of four has to. I’m angry because people should be paid a living wage and not have to rely on tips.
I’m angry because the entire month of December is a run on the national bank of Pia.
For the record this has nothing to do with Christmas itself. If December wasn’t tip giving month there would be some other month.
It’s freezing and I need to meet somebody for lunch and then get groceries. I’m almost scared to come home to my own apartment because I will be empty handed in the tip giving department.
I’m going to see if there’s any hot water so that I can bath before going (sneaking, I mean) out.