A friend of mine and fellow server recently turned me on to an article in the New York Times complaint box on tipping.  I encourage you to read it before reading my response, but for my lazy friends, Daniel Sax, self-admittedly cheap, never leaves above 15% gratuity and hates the custom of tipping.  The title of his rant is “Hey, Waiter!  Just How Much Extra Do You Really Expect?”

I should preface my response to Mr. Sax with this: About a year ago, I’d never had a service industry job in my life. Now, I spend each and every night catering to the requests of diners in a chic Boulder restaurant. But in both walks of life, I’ve never tipped less than 20% unless the service was unbelievably atrocious. And knowing there’s a lucrative end in sight to my days as a server, I dream openly of the day when I can leave lavish tips for servers who deserve it.

And so, Mr. Sax, I’d like to tell you where my perspective differs from yours.

Occasionally, a restaurant professional merely brings you a latte or pours you a beer; in these situations, industry standards for gratuity are often lower than 15-20%. But when you sit down in a restaurant, someone is going to be your personal slave for as long as you care to grace the tables of that particular establishment, and, what’s more, they are going to make you feel like they can’t imagine anything they’d rather be doing.

You see, sir, even if you are the most low-maintenance of diners (which I’m guessing you are not), there are still a number of points of service a server provides. We refill your water. We bring you food and drinks. We make sure you have a fork with which to eat your pan-roasted scallops. We indulge your disgusting habit of eating your fries with mayonnaise by bringing you a heaping side of the condiment. In essence, we do everything short of lay across your lap and feed you bits of your ordered meal with a tender loving hand.

It’s not just the basics we provide, though. We exist to make your experience as comfortable as possible. We can be your best friend, a confidant, someone who makes you look good in front of your business associates or studly to your dashing date, or we can fade into the background, providing you service without you ever realizing we’re there. If you don’t like your dish, we’ll go yell at the kitchen for you and pick up the tab for your food. If you want to let your kids run rampantly, we’ll corral them for you and tell them how cute they are when they’re dipping their grubby hands in other patrons’ ketchup. If you don’t like your beautiful Premier Cru Burgundy that we just opened for you because you were more in the mood for a cabernet, we’ll absorb the cost while smiling toothily and assuring you that we understand. If you ask us to jump, we’ll jump, and then say, “please sir, may I have another,” while whistling zippity doo dah, if that’s going to make you feel good.

How much is a personal slave worth, sir? And should the burden of that service really be on my employer? My employer isn’t asking me for a larger pour of wine. He’s not waving his hand wildly to tell me the filet mignon isn’t to his liking, after all, and ask whether it would be possible to get the salmon instead. He didn’t just shatter his glass of 30-year scotch and demand a free refill.

As for added gratuity on parties of 6 or more, the official answer is that this just makes it easier for you to divide the bill (and since most people these days actually do tip 20%, they don’t oft complain). In reality, large parties require more work because there are more of you to make special requests. After I’ve run a track meet to make sure everyone has everything they need, I’d like to have some assurance that you’re not going to take your irritation with your cheap friend (or, in your case, that your friends don’t take their irritation with you) out on me. I’ve eaten with enough groups to know that somehow, the final count of bills is always short.  My little secret, though?  I don’t add gratuity (or “auto-grat,” as we say in the industry) unless I’m pretty sure I’m going to get stiffed.  Maybe your server is better at reading you than you think.

I’ll be honest, though, the real reason you should tip well is for entirely selfish reasons. I remember my pleasant and appreciative diners, and I also remember the high-maintenance diners that never tip over 15%. Who do you think I’m sending the new appetizer on the menu even though they didn’t order it? Who do you think I’m bringing tastes of wine? Who’s getting the table in the packed reservation list? Who’s getting styled out and looking studlier in front of their dashing date while other repeat customers are nursing their house white without the extra love?

One theory of the etymology of the word “tip” is that it’s an acronym for “to insure promptness.” That might not work the first time around since you don’t tip us until the end, but I can assure you, paying it forward reaps benefits. And for someone who’s self-admittedly cheap, I would think free stuff would be reason enough to toss a few extra dollars our way.