I have no intention of being awake at 8:40 a.m. on the first day of our trip, but you can’t argue with jet lag. Well, I suppose you can try, but the clock tends to be pretty closed off emotionally.
What this has given me is some time to think about two of our interactions with Trump hotel employees last night, both of whom were bringing things to our room.
The first guy had a bottle of wine and chocolate-covered strawberries, an extremely thoughtful one-year anniversay gift from my Aunt Lia and Uncle John that was a complete surprise. The second had our room service order, which was necessary after a long trip that ended in a hotel that’s apparently too classy to believe in vending machines.
If I ever go on The Apprentice, The Donald is going to hear about that. That bathroom is ridiculous, though. And you know how I love bathrooms.
Wait, you probably don’t.
Anyway, when each guy went to leave, I was faced with a dilemma: Do I tip you?
My answer both times was “You’re fired.”
That was supposed to be a funny way of saying “No,” but I think it lost something in the translation. What can I say? The power of The Donald is coursing through my veins.
The wine guy had no bill for me to sign, and, as Jenny suggested, he had probably already been taken care of by my aunt and uncle. Plus, he didn’t do that awkward, I’m-waiting-for-my-tip pause before he walked out.
The room service guy, on the other hand, did have a bill for me, but it already had factored in a $3 “in-suite dining” fee as well as a standard 18% gratutity. As I went to sign, he said “There’s a minimum gratuity already included.”
I wish I could italicize on my iPhone because I’m almost positive “minimum” got a little extra oomph. For a split second, it convinced me I should add something more. He was particularly nice, and it was, after all, the minimum.
Then I looked back at the bill. Yes, the chips and salsa did indeed cost $8. Suddenly, a tip that exceeded the universal standard by three percentage points seemed just fine.
Was I right? That’s for history, or maybe even the D.R.O.P. list, to decide. Until then, I’m going back to bed.