Thank You, Guy

Butler supreme.

I know what you’re thinking. “This deep dish pizza looks very different in person than it did in its online profile picture.” Well, sometimes pizza can be just as vain and shallow as humans. It’s a fact of life-one that I will be explaining to my spawn as soon as they can understand words. Wait, that’s not what you were thinking? Oh. Then, pray, do, tell, me, you. I see. You were thinking, “This guy is a hack. He hasn’t even written any butler jokes!” [rolls up sleeves, spits into palms, rubs hands together, gets down into four-point stance, throws out back, rests in bed for four weeks, recovers, gets back down into four-point stance, offensive lineman pass protection shuffles to desk, starts writing] Here’s what I would do if I had a butler. First off, I would name him (or her) Guy Fieri, after the famous surrealist gastronomical performance artist. Each morning, Guy would be tasked with preparing breakfast: two fried eggs and two meatless sausage patties with a generous squirting of hot sauce for me, a short stack of pancakes with raspberry jam and whipped cream for Wife, and seared swordfish steak for Cat. After breakfast, Guy, who is also a skilled auto mechanic, would “Pimp” both of our rides in styles inspired by various top-selling popular cultural trends and acceptable social mores of the day. After that, Guy would make our beds. That’s pretty much it. Since I actually enjoy doing housework and cooking meals, Guy would be free to play Xbox for the rest of the day.

The Tipping News

Privacy please.

Here’s a tip. No, really, I’m tipping you, as in “here’s four crumpled dollars for your trouble.” Granted, I don’t know why I’m tipping you, but I’ve become so used to the bizarre custom that now if anyone so much as looks at me I shove cash into their hand. I guess it all started when Wife and I stayed in a fancy hotel during a pit stop on our cross country road trip. Sure, the hotel was nice, but dealing with the constant stress of knowing who, when, and what to tip was almost too much to bear (this is not a turn of phrase – we are traveling with a pet bear and, like me, he was very confused by all the tipping). Based on my most recent experience dealing with hotel staff, here are the kinds of services expected to fetch a cash tip: opening doors, wearing a fez, ringing tiny bells, lifting lids, smiling, maintaining eye contact, pressing buttons, and cleaning rooms destroyed by cranky pet bears. Indeed, the art of tipping is so subtle and nuanced that I stopped keeping track and just started handing money to people in the hallway. I’m pretty sure I tipped a baby. I may have even tucked a dollar bill into the soil of a potted plant in the lobby. One thing’s for certain: this insanity must come to an end! Can’t we stop tipping people in the service industry altogether and instead pay them larger salaries? That would be a good idea, right? Oh, you’re agreeing with me. Here’s another tip.