Tipping - the curse

I have to be honest with you regarding my desire to come to Malaysia. From the very beginning, I didn’t really want to. Part of it was because of a lack of knowledge of the country, part of it was because the Frommer’s guidebook we had bought didn’t speak very highly of the place (“cab drivers in Kuala Lumpur ought to have their tires slashed”, and “the bus and train system is hopelessly confusing”), and part of it was because I had wanted to spend more time in Japan. However, as with the rest of this trip, preconceived notions were the first casualty upon landing in Kuala Lumpur (or KL as the locals refer to it).

The airport was one of the nicest I’ve been to, and the high speed train to the city one of the smoothest rides. The palm trees lining the train tracks and stretching into the distance were a riot of green, and made me wonder about the phony attempt that places like LA make at “greening” their cities with, of course, non-native palm trees.

Our hotel was perfectly located off the last train stop, right in central KL. The lobby was beautiful, and the service – oh, the service. Guys, I have to apologize for harping on this topic again, but I feel compelled to mention the smiles and bows that greeted us from every member of the hotel staff. We were then personally shown to our room by a member of the hotel’s “welcome staff.” We were engaged in friendly conversation regarding our trip, life in the US, and our plans for the next few weeks. It was a wonderful, personal touch. And there was no tipping involved – not to our “welcome manager”, not to the bellhop that eventually delivered our bags, and not to the wait staff at the restaurant where we ate that night.

And here is where I digress into the evils of tipping. It is a bane. A curse. A cross that we in the US are forced to bear in the name of recognizing good service. I want to clearly precede this tirade by stating that I am not a miser, and will happily part with money if I receive outstanding service (and unfortunately, even when I don’t). Heck, for the seven years I worked as a consultant I lived on an expense account, and never had to worry about how much I was tipping anyone when I traveled (which was a lot) – uncle IBM picked up the tab every time. But it never really hit me how unfair this practice of tipping is until now, where I have not had to tip anywhere in China, Japan, or here in Malaysia.

I vividly remember one incident in New York city when I was traveling there for a client a few years ago. I checked into the swanky W Hotel in mid-town – a place I stayed at for the convenience and short walk to work, but which was normally occupied by trendy socialites dressed in the hippest wear and with attitudes of great angst. Which must have also rubbed off on the hotel staff, because this particular Monday I had arrived late in New York because of a delayed flight. I had to check my bags in because my room wasn’t ready at the time, and then quickly walk to work. The bellhop who took my bags made a great show of taking possession of my tiny carry-on, and then informed me that he would be taking care of my bag from this point on. I assume I was expected to be immensely relieved, but I couldn’t imagine who else would want my old gym clothes, sleepwear, and change of clothes for the next few days, and why they would require such close guarding. There was a pause, where I felt I was expected to say something, so I ventured a simple “thank you.”

Another pause. I received a pitying look that said that I obviously was missing the point. The bellhop then said, “I will not be around later this evening.” And then he stood there staring at me.

I was flummoxed. This man had every right to be wherever he wanted to be later that evening – he didn’t have to tell me, so why was he? Confused, I put my hands in my pocket, and that’s when it happened. Everything made sense to me. Upon my placing my hands in my pocket, this man’s eyes had immediately followed, and his demeanor had instantly relaxed. In his mind, the next act would be my withdrawing my hands holding a few dollar bills, which I was supposed to hand to this man with expressions of deep gratitude. Unfortunately for him, I had no cash on me, and had planned to go to the ATM later that day. So, although I knew what I was expected to do, I kept my hands in my pocket. I didn’t have time for this man’s games.

“Since you’re not going to be here this evening, can I get a claim ticket for my bag?” I asked.

Oh the disgust that registered on his face! It was as if I’d flung my dirty laundry in his face. With a ridiculous grimace, the guy proceeded to take out a claim ticket, fill it out, and contemptuously hand it to me. I smiled. A big, gracious smile, not because I wanted to be nice to him, but because I knew that this would gall him even more. Then I turned around and left. Behind me I could hear my bag being thrown onto a luggage cart. Whatever dude – screw you.

Ah, it was cathartic just writing that.

So it has come as such a pleasant surprise that handing money for what is expected of someone produces surprising looks in Asia. Granted, tipping is not customary in some of the other places I’ve been to – Europe, Australia, Pakistan. But the Asian people are genuinely confounded by my pressing some money into their palm for helping open a cab door for me, or for bringing my bags into the room. These things are expected of them, and they don’t expect anything in return. If someone goes above and beyond, THAT is when you tip. Just as you should. You don’t just tip because you know that your waiter makes minimum wage and relies on tips to complement his salary. You don’t just tip because someone helps you with a bag that you don’t need help with. You don’t just tip for people doing their jobs. You don’t just tip because you are guilted into doing so.

The answer is obvious – price the tip into the good or service that you purchase in the US. I’d be happy to pay more for my food if a service charge was already included, as it is in other parts of the world. I would then tip only if I received great service, re-enforcing that positive act. A tip in the US no longer conveys the level of service rendered. Instead, it just becomes a massive pain in the neck when 11 friends have to divide $137 between them and calculate a mandatory tip. The mental math makes my quantitatively challenged self break out into cold sweats. And how much do you tip your hotel maid? The concierge? The shoe-shine guy? The Peapod online grocery delivery guy? The wedding planner? You need a guide just to figure out what is expected of you in all sorts of situations. Tipping, the way that it is set-up in the US, sucks.

So, once again, apologies for this diatribe. Today was a transit day, and there wasn’t much excitement that happened, which is why I have taken the liberty of going on about tipping. Tomorrow, however, plans to be a full day. KL, here we come!