Tipping the Piano Player

These last two weeks I have been working a piano bar gig in Midtown for a friend of mine. Now in the beginning of the night, I'm playing dinner music for the dining crowd, but after 10 or so, I kick it up a notch and begin a more interactive show. Last night I was reminded of how different people tip or don't tip the piano player.

First there are the people who leave the dining room and walk right past the piano without so much as a glance. The same piano which they have been listening to (and dare I presume to say, enjoying) throughout out their entire dinner . To these people, as they go by I make it a point to personally address them, smile widely and say "Thank you!" I don't specify what I'm thanking them for, of course. (Thanks for dining with us; thanks for the tip you are about to give me; or, thanks for nothing you cheap bastards.) Of this first group, about 25% of them will realize that they have forgotten to tip me (because my tip jar is right there as they turn around to respond to me) and they may continue walking out but come right back with a tip and a smile. Another 50% will turn to me and give me some version of a tight lipped smile and maybe say thank you back, but continue out the door, their precious purse change in tact, and then of course there are the 25% who don't even acknowledge that I have addressed them at all.

Then there is the second group: the ostentatious tippers. They are divided into two categories. The ostentatious BIG tippers (think bond traders out with their girl du jour) and the ostentatious CHEAP tippers (many times drunk middle-aged women). Now the first category has paid a large part of my rent for the past 12 years. They are the ones who will make damn sure you know that they have tipped, and exactly the amount of their tip. Sometimes they will bypass the tip jar entirely and put their $20 or $100 bills in your hand, and give you knowing look that says, Look at me, I want you to know that I am tipping you and it's not insignificant. These are not the people that are giving anonymous donations to the red cross after a major hurricane, but I still appreciate them nonetheless even though they sometimes make me feel like a well paid whore. Italian wannabe mobsters that want to sing My Way, or New York, NY for the entire bar fall squarely into this category. Then there is the second category. The woman who will do a little rain dance in front of the tip jar with their $1 bill in hand, waving it around as a banner of their graciousness so that not only do i know they are tippers, but the world knows. They think if they bring attention to the fact that they tipped, the actual penurious amount will be overlooked in a fit of gratitude on my part. Wrong! I hope there is a special section of Hell where these people end up waiting tables at a greasy spoon for all eternity and getting under tipped in such a spectacular fashion.

Then there are the ones who will tip $10 or $20 with no fanfare at all. These people are saying yes I appreciate what you are doing here, and we don't need to remind each other that you are dependant on my generosity to make your living. These people allow us pianists to retain our dignity and still pay the rent. The archangels of this group, which is the rarest of rare, are the $50 and $100 tippers who actually try to hide the amount of their tip so as not to bring attention to themselves or their tip. There is nothing as sweet as counting your tips at the end of a long night of New York, NY and Piano Man, and finding an unexpected $100 bill folded in four among all the other bills.

Finally and most humorously are the cheap tippers that try to hide their cheapness. These are the ones that tip a single dollar but will push it deep in the (clear glass) tip jar so that they think it's impossible for me to discern the tip amount. What they don't realize is that I've been doing this for too long am too dependant on the amount of their tips to be fooled by such an amateur move. The biggest clue is when they hide the bill in their palm and reach their hand down into the jar, past the lip of the (clear glass) jar as though they were about to draw out the winning number for a reverse raffle. And no matter how much they attempt to hide their faux pas, I can usually tell when they remove their hand, which bill has been added to the (did i say it was clear glass?) jar. It's almost always a single dollar bill, but sometimes, it's actually coins and they are hoping that the coins will be soundless as they fall to the bottom of the glass jar, which is why their hand goes so far down into the jar. If I catch people putting coins in, I will first determine if its a dollar coin. If it is I will begrudgingly leave them alone. But God and the host of Angels help them if it is not. I will shamelessly draw attention to the fact that this gentleman just tipped me 55 cents, and sir, no I'm not the crosstown bus, thank you very much! Now there is a special subsection of these discrete cheap tippers. These are the ones that later in the evening try to tell me that they have tipped me $10 or $15 or $20 throughout the course of the night, and for that reason I should play New York, NY for their overly mascaraed girlfriend. It is rare, but it happens. Invariably they are the most demanding patrons.

I send them publicly to hell.

I explain over the microphone that no, they have not tipped me $20. They in fact only tipped me $1, and I specifically remember. It was 25 minutes ago, they came over on their way to the bathroom, reached deep into my tip jar just like this (I demonstrate), and placed a folded $1 bill on the left side of the jar where they thought I wouldn't be able to see it, and this is their tip (I withdrawal their bill with a David Copperfield-like flourish). Sometimes they will fold immediately and reach into their tight wallet and quickly try to remedy the situation with a belated cash penance,...and then sometimes they will try to argue with me. If they do this, I ask them exactly what denomination they tipped in, and then proceed to explain to them how that is impossible because the only $20 bills in the tip jar came from John standing over there and Felicia sitting right there (I point) and I saw them being put in. (Thanks, by the way, Felicia and John.) It's quite a show I put on!

Then there was the well-heeled gentleman who tipped me with a Metrocard that he swore had an $18 credit on it. I reluctantly gave him the benefit of the doubt as there was no way of verifying it at the time, of course, but when I got in the subway I found out, not suprisingly that the prick had given me an expired unlimited card. He then came back the following week and tried to tip me again with another Metrocard then pretended to forget that he had done it the week before! Big Mistake. By the time I was done with him, he had paid me off $50 in shush money. It's ugly work, this piano playing stuff!