Our restaurant is decidedly upscale. Our meals cost a small fortune. If you assume your server is a caste or two below you, chances are you’d place me even lower. Oh, she’s just the stupid dishwasher, right? Well, I have two college degrees. I don’t drive, and this was the only job I could get near home. I’ve worked here eight years, longer than any of our chefs.
Long after you sip the last of your fine wine and finish your lemon sorbet, I’ll be bustling around the kitchen. Clean dishes need to be put away. Trash must be taken outside. The kitchen floor awaits sweeping and mopping.
Your tip helps your server survive in these tough times. As for me, I’m forced to survive without tips, from you or anyone else. Whatever superpowers I possess come from within.