Tip Big or Go Home

I’m in a hotel room in San Diego, which is a good thing, for me personally. It’s warm. I like it when it’s warm. I can go outside and sit in the sun. I have been scuttling from sun-drenched rock to sun-drenched rock, like a big prehistoric lizard, soaking up the heat. I’m aggressively courting a sunburn. It’s a badge of honor in February. When my nose is being consumed by a malignant melanoma in twenty years I won’t be quite so smug but it’s sweet right now.
This is a pretty nice hotel which is a mixed blessing. In my experience the more money you spend on lodging the more ponderous and complex and inconvenient the service becomes. They make you work for everything. No wonder rich people are so bitchy. I chose to leave my suitcase with some kid in a cap at the front door, vaguely aware that this wouldn't help my progress in the long run and would be a nightmare in the short run. No clue as to the middle run. That could go either way.

I tipped him for this privilege, which meant I lost track of my luggage for thirty minutes, as opposed to wheeling the bag up myself so that I could brush my teeth and change my underwear. I mean, the suitcases all have wheels now. I’m not using a wooden steamer trunk that weighs a hundred and twenty pounds. I’m somewhat able bodied; certainly fit enough to wheel a suitcase up to my room. I’m having enough trouble getting old without the implication that I can’t handle a suitcase on wheels but I didn't want the kid in the cap to think that I was too cheap to tip him.

This delay gave me plenty of time to work up a righteous anger, which I was unable to vent on the preposterously friendly bellhop who brought up my bag, necessitating a second tip, since the first kid had disappeared with my two bucks. I could have bought all new things by the time I got done tipping everyone, which is a skill I have never learned. I like to tip but am never sure what amount is appropriate and why it’s part of the game. I’m probably tipping better than most but feeling terrible about it, certain that I’m being way too stingy.

I’ve forgotten the point of this rant.