I recently read a blog post in which the author wondered if you should tip the guys who do the detail work when you have your car washed. That post made me think about my own tipping habits and reminded me of one of my most embarrassing moments.
As for my tipping habits, I'm a very good tipper. I go to New Orleans and Las Vegas a lot and this is where I learned that being a generous tipper keeps everyone happy. It's an ideal symbiotic relationship. The person receiving the nice tip is happy (I'm not saying an outrageously huge tip, just a little extra), my glass is never empty and I always have plenty of clean towels.
Now, for my embarrassing experience. Until my hairdresser changed shops, she worked in one of the high end salons here in Beaumont. I loved going to that place and I miss it now that she's in a smaller shop. In the larger salon, there was great music, lots of stylists and lots of people everywhere. When you were called for your appointment, one of the many shampoo persons would shampoo you for the stylist. The shampoo included a wonderful five minute head massage. Oh, yeah. It was great. I always tipped the shampoo person a couple of bucks because that's what my mama taught me.
One day, I was called back for my shampoo by a young, good looking, very stylish guy. He gave me the usual shampoo with the wonderful five minute head massage which became a ten minute head and shoulder massage. Oh, man. When it was done, I tried to give the guy the tip. He looked at me, kind of smirked, patted me on the shoulder and said, "Oh, that's okay." It was very strange and made me feel oddly uncomfortable.
When I told my daughter-in-law what had happened, she asked me what the guy looked like. She said, "You tried to tip, Leonardo Da Vinci." (Not his real name, but you get my drift.) I had tried to tip the owner of the salon! The Master Stylist himself! There I sat in my Saturday morning t-shirt, non-designer jeans and no-name tennis shoes trying to give two bucks to one of the richest men in Beaumont. (He owns several of these salons.)
Of course, I have no shame. I kept going to the salon because total and utter humiliation is a small price to pay for a good haircut.