Hello, I’m Veronica
The sky is not completely dark at night. Were the sky absolutely dark, one would not be able to see the silhouette of an object against the sky.
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Tipsy-Turvy
Emily Post’s Etiquette is surely an authority on its topic, considering the book was first published in 1922 and is now into its nineteenth edition. I would’ve enjoyed meeting Ms. Post, as Etiquette remains “the most trusted resource for navigating life’s every situation”. The advice never veers from its original premise, simply adapting to times as they change. Of course, it’s all about manners – good ones at that. And were Emily Post alive today, she’d have us flip to Chapter 13, for a review of a practice of growing concern (and confusion). Chapter 13 talks about tipping.
I’ve written about tipping before. Three years ago (!) I told the story of my family’s visit to New York City, and the cabbie who crammed the six of us into one vehicle, then demanded a bigger tip than I gave, as a reward for saving the cost of a second cab. I disagreed with him, because I believed – still do – a tip reflects the service itself (which was marginal). More importantly, the recipient should never expect the tip, let alone argue over the amount.
Square’s POS So-o-o, why is tipping such a hot topic now? Because restaurants and coffee shops are moving to point-of-sale (POS) technology at the counter, allowing the customer to complete the transaction through an iPad, no cash required. POS software (like Square) includes a tipping screen, offering suggested percentages/amounts, or no tip at all. It’s a change to the social dynamic. Before POS, you could discreetly add (or not add) a tip to your receipt before signing, or perhaps throw a few coins into the jar. With POS, the tipping decision is forced on you at the front of the line (hurry up!). And don’t be surprised if the person behind you sneaks a peak while you choose your tip.
My issue is not with the POS technology itself. I like the security of completing a transaction (i.e. the credit card never leaves the hand), and I don’t mind navigating a couple of iPad screens to do it. What I do mind is “tipping manipulation” as I’m standing at the counter. The suggested amounts are the first thing you see, and beckon in LARGE FONTS. To leave a smaller amount requires additional screens. The “No Tip” option sits at the bottom like an afterthought. Behavioral science says you’ll almost always choose from the top row, whether the service deserves it or not.
POS software gives the merchant the option to remove the tipping screen altogether, but I’m not suggesting they go back to a jar of coins. Instead, before the tipping screen, why not insert a common courtesy (channeling Emily Post here): a screen simply asking, “Would you like to leave a tip?”
If your habit is to always (or never) leave a tip, consider the variables behind the curtains. Some businesses adjust employee pay down if the position receives tips. Other businesses pool tips, then divide the pot between all service positions (did you really intend to tip the dishwasher)? The American Restaurant Association claims some states allow service businesses to pay less than minimum wage, because tips are legally considered wages. Finally, minimum wage varies by state, so a nice tip in one state might be an insult in another. Yet you, the tipper, have no idea if one or more of the above applies as you’re about to pay. Messy, no?
Timeout for a favorite tipping story. After years of one-on-one sessions, my personal trainer decided to resign my athletic club and pursue another career. Knowing she was leaving, I asked if I could leave a tip with my final payment. She declined, saying club policy did not allow tips. However, she said, I could give her a positive review through the club’s on-line survey, and then she would likely receive a bonus in her paycheck. Money and acknowledgement by her manager? I completed the survey.
Someone once said, “Tips are like hugs, without the awkward body contact.” I like that, except we’re starting to get awkward again. POS screens allow for invasion of personal space, bringing tipping into the open. Maybe Square should take a “tip” from Starbucks. Use the Starbucks app to pay with your phone at the counter, and the tipping comes later, in the privacy of your own whatever. You’re given several hours to consider if and how much you should tip. I think Etiquette Chap. 13 would agree with that approach.
I’ll continue to be a savvy tipper, no matter what I’m faced with. If I use a POS iPad, I’ll go with a “Custom Tip Amount” if I need to. If I sign a credit-card slip, I’ll always tip on the pre-tax amount and I’ll never blindly choose 15%. If it’s cash in hand, I’m at the mercy of the denominations I have in my pocket. And in every case, I’ll ask myself the same question Emily Post would pose: “Did I receive notably good service?”
Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”, from the Wall Street Journal article, “You Want 20% for Handing Me a Muffin?”, and from the USA Today article, “How Much to Tip…?”
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The Sweets Life
“Pagina Non Trovata” has the look of an elegant Italian phrase (or an opera title), until translation and context reveal its harsh reality. The phrase means “page not found”, which in my instance referred to a (former) on-line job posting for Italian candy company Ferrero. My punishment for seeking the advertisement two months after the fact? Ferrero, the second largest chocolate/confectionery company in the world, is (was) looking for sixty taste-testers – “sensory judges” if you will – to offer opinions on its products. O.M.Gee I wish I’d seen this sooner. Instead, I won’t be one of the chosen few because, well, “page not found”.
Let’s ponder this (past) job opportunity for a paragraph, shall we? Ferrero is (was) searching the world for several “average consumers”, who would (will now) get paid to eat chocolate. “No experience necessary”, they claimed (otherwise by definition you aren’t an average consumer). The only real requirement, absent food allergies, is (was) a willingness to move to northwest Italy, which darn-it-all means France and Switzerland are just as easy to visit. Ferrero gives (gave) three months of paid training, followed by an offer to join the company as a part-time taster. “Part-time” in Italy translates to maybe a) second job, or probably b) la dolce vita (“the sweet life”, which definitely does not include a job). Ferrero’s job is akin to unwrapping a bar of chocolate and finding a Wonka golden ticket.
If Ferrero created run-of-the-mill chocolates, searching late on their job opp wouldn’t be such a tragedy. But Ferrero makes Ferrero Rocher (of course they do), those gold-foiled balls of decadent chocolate and hazelnuts. They also make Mon Cheri, those pink-foiled chocolate cubes filled with cherries and sweet liqueur. They even make Tic-Tac’s for gosh sakes, the boxed pill-like mints all-the-rage when I was a kid. And finally, their pièce de résistance (or in Italy, “piu degno de nota”), on which the entire company was founded over sixty years ago, Ferrero makes Nutella.
Maybe it was half-hearted reading up to now, but mention Nutella and most people really sit up and listen. I’m convinced Ferrero puts a secret something into Nutella to make consumers crave hazelnut chocolate spread all the more (bolstering the theory Starbucks does the same with its coffee drinks). Why else would shoppers storm a small store – and engage in a brawl – when the Nutella stock was discounted 50% (see video here)? Which leads to an even nuttier question: why have I never tried Nutella myself?
Nuts+chocolate equals killer-combination – I get that. Give me a basket of Halloween candy and I’ll fish out all the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Offer me thirty-one flavors at Baskin-Robbins and I’ll easily short-list peanut-butter-and-chocolate. Sell me M&M’s at the movie theater and I’ll always choose peanut over plain. But in all my examples, I’m talking peanuts, not hazelnuts. Nutella spread is new territory for me, which means I’m the perfect candidate for Ferrero’s job. I have no experience with hazelnuts.
The more I read about my future employer, the more I’m impressed with their credentials. Ferrero buys 25% of the world’s hazelnut production (and fittingly, acquired the world’s largest hazelnut producer four years ago). They employ 40,000 candy-men and women in a network of 38 trading companies and 18 factories. Ferrero keeps its recipes under lock-and-key, never letting the press into its facilities nor hosting a press conference, and always engineering its own production equipment. A recent survey labeled Ferrero “the most reputable company in the world“.
As if I need a clincher to make this decision, last January Ferrero acquired the Nestle’s company’s candy division. Holy cowbells. On top of Nutella, I get to taste-test Sweetarts and Butterfingers and Laffy Taffy and the decadent Nestle’s Crunch (silver-foiled chocolate with a generous helping of crisped rice)? Why even pay me?
I could do this job. The more I think about it the more I’m convinced Ferrero needs 61 sensory judges. I’m just (fashionably) late to the party. All I need to do is brush up on my college Italian (no joke; I spent a year in Rome back then), convince my wife that our dogs, cats, and horses would be next to heaven in northwest Italy, and promptly board the next Alitalia flight. Sweet life – er, dolce vita – here I come!
Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”, and the USA Today article, “Dream Job: Italy’s Nutella maker seeks 60 taste-testers…”
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Loose Lips Sink Sips
Twenty years from now, my granddaughter will wander into my home office as a young adult, just for a look around. She won’t find much of interest on the desk or the cabinets (if we still need desks or cabinets twenty years from now), so she’ll direct her attention to the things on my shelves. Besides photos and books, she’ll find mementos from times and places past: greeting cards, concert programs, sports tickets, autographed items, and so on. She’ll also find items no longer necessary in her world, like a newspaper (from the day I was born), a paperweight (will anything be on paper anymore?), and a few music CD’s I can’t seem to part with. To this last group of items, perhaps I should add a drinking straw.
“Grandpa?”, she’ll say when she spies it, “What’s the narrow little tube with the colored stripes?” “Oh”, I’ll smile and say, “That’s a straw. People used them back in the old days to suck drinks out of their glasses.” She’ll ponder that for a bit and then ask, “Why wouldn’t they just drink straight from the glass like we do today?” Good question, granddaughter. Then I’d pull up a chair, and explain the tragic tale of the drinking straw – the humble roots as a durable replacement for rye grass; the evolution into kid-friendly varieties like bendy, Crazy, candy, and spoon-ended (for slush drinks); the proliferation into seemingly-essential varieties like miniature (cocktails), “extend-o” (juice boxes), extra-wide (bubble-tea), and trendy doubles-as-a-stirrer (Starbucks). Finally, I’d talk about the straw’s fade into obsolescence – the promoted shame over “one-time-use” products, the YouTube-sensationalized horrors of polypropylene impacts to the environment, and the headlines and bans and laws which would ultimately exterminate the little suckers.
Perhaps my granddaughter would pose another question: “Why the fuss over a little piece of plastic, when so much else in the world deserved equal-if-not-more attention?” Exactly. I asked myself the same question when I sat down to write this piece.
No matter where you stand on the drinking straw debate, it’s a great example of the power of social media to elevate a topic to a level of importance beyond what it might deserve. According to those in the know, straws account for a tiny portion of the plastic waste in landfills and oceans. But they have our attention, don’t they? As Plastic Pollution Coalition CEO Dianna Cohen puts it, “We look at straws as one of the gateway issues to help people start thinking about the global plastic pollution problem.” “Gateway issue” – I like that. The straw is simply the catalyst, easing people into an awareness of a much more significant problem.
As for the demise of drinking straws, we’ve moved from opinion to discussion to debate, and finally to laws and bans to discourage their use, yet we’ve hardly reached a resolution. An effective replacement for the plastic straw simply doesn’t exist. Paper straws durable enough to last the life of the drink don’t decompose much faster than plastic. Paper straws cost five times as much, so the restaurant industry will have to swallow hard. Reusable straws have their merits (ex. metal, glass), but unless restaurants budget them to the bottom line, we’re facing a massive change in behavior. You’re already leaving the house with your car keys and your phone, but hey, don’t forget that reusable straw.
More likely, straws will simply disappear altogether. As we speak, we’re in that awkward middle-ground where straws are still an option in restaurants, but more and more establishments (and entire states) mandate the customer must ask for one. From there, you can make the easy leap to guilt-by-association – as in, sure you can have a straw, but do you really want to be seen using one? The only resolution in my mind is to do without, like we do hot coffee, beer, and wine. Time to drink everything straight from the glass.
Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”, and articles from Business Insider, Eater, and Sprudge.
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Smooth Moves
This morning after a workout at the gym, I set up at the locker room sink for a shave. A few sinks down, I noticed a guy shaving his entire head. That takes some talent, because you can’t see all that real estate in the mirror. He headed in all directions with the blade – up and over the summit and back down the slopes, until he had a clean-shaven dome. Used to be – a guy shaved his head for religion, or the military, or maybe he’s just extreme into swimming or cycling. Not anymore; the male shaved head is just another man in the crowd these days.
This person isn’t me, but you get the idea. Shaving is one of those things we guys do almost absentmindedly. We each have a unique routine – no one is exactly the same as another. There aren’t guidelines so much as common sense: a good shave needs hot water, a substantial cream, and a sharp blade (or an electric). A guy who shaves daily is probably changing his blades once a week (though my friend two sinks down surely changes more often). The creams come in a hundred different varieties. Over time I’ve found one that works better than others, but again that’s just me.
Some guys shave in the shower. I can’t do that – not unless I install a mirror. If I’m not seeing myself I’m gonna get cut, or at least miss several spots. Earn yourself enough razor burn, and technique takes on a whole new importance.
A man in his fifties (me) shaving daily has come to the sink 15,000 times since he first picked up a blade. That’s enough times to develop technique, and also to be somewhat absentminded about it. And therein lies the simple pleasure of shaving: the five minutes I need from start to finish is a great ponder moment. Sure, you’re staring yourself in the mirror and you have some sense of what you’re doing, but you’re actually thinking about other stuff. What am I going to accomplish today? Was that a decent workout or could I have done better? Is that a grey hair?
(Note: women probably identify with shaving as a ponder moment too, but I’ll let a female blogger weigh in on that. Better her experience than my own presumption. Kind of like saying I know what it’s like to be pregnant.)
15,000 shaves got me thinking – why do guys do this at all? It had to start somewhere, didn’t it? Picture a caveman waking up one morning and seeing his beard dragging on the ground. Maybe he stumbles on it a few times. Maybe he throws it over his shoulder like a tie, but it still gets in the way. So he takes a sharp rock and lops it off. Voila: the very first shave.
Nope, not me either. When did “real” shaving get started? How about 3000 BC? Go back that far and you’ll find the birth of personal hygiene. Shaving was crude in those days – as you would expect – just shells or sharp tools to make the cut. Straight razors (basically a pocket-knife on a larger scale) came along in the 18th century and were the method of choice for the next two hundred years. Then Gillette invented the safety razor – the disposable cartridge blade – and the straight pretty much disappeared (save for a few men’s salons today).
straight razor Shaving doesn’t have many myths, but the big one claims the practice promotes faster hair growth. Not true. Shaving gives the appearance of thicker hair (but only because you’ve lopped off what used to be a tapered hair). Faster-growing hair has everything to do with aging, and nothing to do with shaving.
No doubt as I type, someone is inventing an easier way to shave. Perhaps a potion for the face, dissolving all visible hair in mere seconds. Or how about an army of nanobots – tiny, industrious mowers working together to make all desired surfaces smooth and clean?
I don’t think I’d be up for either of those options. No matter how perfect the shave might be, I’d hate to give up my ponder moment. Questions need to be asked; decisions need to be made. Nope; not ready to put down the blade just yet.
Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.
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Almond Joy
Think about the last time you invited friends to your place, for dinner or some other get-together. Did they bring a little something – a gesture of their gratitude – or did they show up empty-handed? The gesture, whether a bottle of wine or baked goods, is especially thoughtful because it was never really expected, right? You invited your guests after all, presumably with no strings attached.
When my wife and I hosted friends from Germany a few months ago, they arrived with a plethora of German candies (an embarrassing amount, really). From their suitcases emerged boxes of chocolates and all kinds of licorice. There were German cookies and tempting little cakes. Finally, they placed a curious-looking black round metal tin on the counter. The label proclaimed, “Mann Des Jahres”, or “Man of the Year” (???) The tin looked more like an award than candy. Later, I discovered it was filled with marzipan.
Marzipan translates to “March bread” by some and “a seated king” by others, but to me it is quite literally almond joy. Sweetened with sugar or honey, marzipan derives its distinctive flavor from the paste, meal, or oil extract of almonds. Marzipan is more popular in Europe than in the United States. It is typically shaped into edible fruits, vegetables, or little animals – popular around Christmas and Easter. Marzipan is also used in thin sheets as glazing for cakes. The marzipan from my German friends was one big delightful chocolate-covered disc of almond cake. In hindsight, I wish they’d brought a dozen “Man of the Year’s” and left everything else at home.
Marzipan was not my first introduction to the joy of almonds. I fell for them back when chocolate bars like Almond Joy and Mounds were kings of the candy aisle (no Kit-Kat or Twix in my day). Almond Joy was confection perfection: chocolate and coconut topped with whole almonds. Then I discovered chocolate-covered almonds and realized I didn’t need the coconut. Then I learned to appreciate almonds all by themselves – roasted and seasoned with sea salt – and realized I didn’t need the chocolate covering. Today, I keep a bag of Marcona almonds in my car, to fend off less-healthy temptations.
No discussion of almonds would be complete without a glass of amaretto. In my junior year of college, studying abroad in Rome and not quite of drinking age, I was introduced to copious amounts of table wine, but also to Amaretto Disaronno, the elegant liquor from the northern part of Italy. The (supposed) origin of Disaronno is as colorful as the drink itself:
In 1525, a Saronno church commissioned artist Bernardino Luini, one of Leonardo da Vinci’s pupils, to paint its sanctuary with frescoes. As the church was dedicated to the Virgin Mary, Luini needed to depict the Madonna, but was in need of a model. He found his inspiration in a young widowed innkeeper, who became his model (and lover). Out of gratitude and affection, the woman wished to give him a gift. Her simple means did not permit much, so she steeped apricot kernels in brandy and presented the resulting concoction to a touched Luini. (from “A Brief History of Amaretto” – Shaw Media)
Saronno, Italy Apricots still play a role in the making of amaretto, but its distinctive flavor comes from bitter almonds (amaretto translates to “bitter”). Yet it’s still syrupy sweet – too sweet for me to drink straight. Like most I “sour” mine with a shot or two of lemon juice.
Now that I think about it, we have almonds everywhere in our house. Almond milk in the refrigerator. Almond flour in the pantry. Almond extract in the spice drawer. Almond butter for our protein shakes and slivered almonds for our salads. Amaretto in the liquor cabinet.
Still not enough. I need to go find me some more marzipan.
Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.
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The sky is not completely dark at night. Were the sky absolutely dark, one would not be able to see the silhouette of an object against the sky.
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