Is There a Tip Button for Saying No to the Tip Button? 🚫

I have a question. When did tipping become something we are apparently expected to do everywhere? I feel like I blinked and suddenly the little tip screen followed me out of the restaurant and into every corner of my life. I understand tipping at a restaurant. Someone brings me food, keeps my drink filled, clears my dishes, and makes sure I don't have to get up every five minutes. Fine. I understand the arrangement. But lately, I feel like I need to be prepared to tip simply because I had the audacity to purchase something.

I walked into a store, picked something off a shelf, carried it to the register myself, stood in line, waited my turn, and handed the cashier my money. The cashier rang it up, put it in a bag, and then spun that little screen around toward me with the tip options staring back at me. Eighteen percent. Twenty percent. Twenty-five percent. Excuse me? A tip for what? I did most of the work here. At this point, I would like a tip for successfully navigating the store without buying seventeen things I didn't need.

There is something about that screen that immediately changes the atmosphere. Before it appears, we're having a perfectly normal transaction. I'm buying something. You're selling it. Everybody understands the arrangement. Then suddenly the screen asks me how much extra I would like to give, and I feel like I've been transported into a social experiment. Why does pressing “No Tip” suddenly feel like I'm making a moral statement? The dreaded button practically seems to ask, “Are you sure?” Yes. I'm sure. I just bought a $7 candle. The candle is not waiting tables.

I'm not saying people shouldn't be tipped. There are plenty of people who absolutely deserve tips for the work they do, especially when they're providing personal service or going above and beyond to help someone. I'm happy to recognize good service when tipping makes sense. What I don't understand is why tipping seems to have expanded to the point where I now have to wonder whether every purchase comes with an opportunity to prove that I am a decent human being.

Buy coffee? Tip. Order food? Tip. Pick up food yourself? There's a tip screen. Get something delivered? Tip. Get your hair cut? Tip. Get your nails done? Tip. Take your dog somewhere for a service? Probably tip. Buy something at a retail store? Apparently we're exploring that territory too. At this rate, I'm waiting for the self-checkout machine to turn around and ask for a tip. “Thank you for scanning your own groceries. How would you like to tip?” Twenty percent for the machine? Absolutely not. The machine literally told me to put the item in the bagging area.

Then there's the awkward moment when the tip screen appears and you weren't expecting it. Suddenly you have to make a decision while somebody is standing there watching. I stare at the screen, pretend to read the receipt, and contemplate my entire financial situation while the employee patiently waits. Meanwhile, I'm doing math over whether I should tip 10% on a $6 purchase. Why am I doing algebra at the cash register? I came here to buy a notebook.

And then there are the situations where the tip request appears before the service has even happened. That one really gets me. How exactly am I supposed to tip for excellent service that you haven't provided yet? Is this a tip or a prediction? Am I placing a wager on your future performance? “Would you like to leave a 25% tip?” I don't know. You haven't done anything yet. Maybe we should let the service happen first.

I think what makes all of this so strange is that tipping used to feel like something extra. It was a way to say, “You did a great job, and I appreciate you.” Now it can feel like another line item I'm expected to calculate before I even know what the final cost is. The price on the shelf says one thing, the register says another, and then the tip screen appears like a surprise guest at a party.

I can already imagine the future. I'll walk into a store, pick up a package of socks, carry them to the register, pay for them, bag them myself, and the screen will ask, “Would you like to leave a tip for your shopping experience?” My shopping experience? I found socks. That's it. Nobody gave me a massage. Nobody serenaded me while I compared colors. I found socks.

At some point, I think we need to bring back the concept of simply paying for the thing we purchased. If someone provides excellent service, absolutely let me show my appreciation. But if I have to start tipping every person and every machine involved in the simple act of purchasing something, I'm going to need a second checking account just for gratuities.

Because I cannot afford to tip the entire economy. I'm already paying for the product, taxes, shipping, delivery fees, and service fees. Now you're looking at me with a little screen asking if I'd like to add 25% because apparently my purchase has feelings. No. I'm sorry. I love you. But I have boundaries. And one of those boundaries is not tipping a cash register.

At this point, I fully expect my next grocery receipt to say, “Would you like to leave a tip for the cashier, the bagger, the shopping cart, the parking lot, and the person who stocked the bananas?” If that happens, everyone needs to understand something very important: I am fresh out of tips. My wallet has left the building, my bank account is tired, and my generosity has officially gone on vacation.

I'll see you at the register.

Just don't spin that screen toward me.