TIPtoeing Around New York

New York, the "Big Apple," is often characterized as the "rotten apple" by people who don't live there. It's crowded, it's loud, it's in a hurry. While all that may be true, it's also exciting, fun, and, yes, friendly.

Recently, I was there on business. By the time I was in my hotel room, I had tipped half a dozen people, and gotten dirty looks from three others who apparently felt I had stiffed them. My hotel was one of those hip "boutique" hotels. There is no name outside the building to identify it as a hotel and the employees don't wear uniforms, so it's hard to tell who works there and who is a guest.

After checking in, I decided to get something to eat. Just walking down the noisy, teeming street for a few blocks was energizing. When I returned after my snack, I couldn't figure out how to unlock the door to my room. Embarrassed, I went back down to the lobby and found someone to help me. He admitted that the key was "tricky," and went with me to my room and demonstrated. I tipped him, even though I wasn't sure if he was a hotel employee or a salesman from Ohio looking for an extra buck.

The next morning, I had a business meeting in a different hotel. This one had a sign outside with the hotel's name on it. As I walked into the lobby, I couldn't help noticing that three policemen were arresting and handcuffing someone. I actually heard one of the cops say something into his microphone that until then I had only heard on television: "I've got the perp." The guy I was meeting there smiled at me and said, "Welcome To New York."

After the meeting, and after tipping that hotel's uniformed doorman because he almost helped me, I got into a cab to take me back to my hotel. The driver was wearing a full chauffeur's uniform, including the cap.

He explained, "I drove a limo for years, and now that I'm driving a taxi, I see no reason why I shouldn't give the same service with the same professionalism."

He said he was a positive person, and if I ever had negative feelings, I should think of him as a computer icon on my desktop. All I had to do was double-click him in my mind, and I'd feel better. Cynics would say he was just trying to get a bigger tip, but I didn't think so.

He found my hotel, despite the absence of any identifying marks, and I paid him. (OK, I admit I gave him a dollar more than I normally would have.) He thanked me, and handed me an envelope.

I successfully unlocked the door to my room, went in, and opened the envelope. It was a thank you note for taking his cab. The same cynics would probably guess it was a way for him to advertise in case I ever wanted to hire him privately. But that wasn't the case. There was no phone number on the card. But there was a little poem that he had written, along with his name and address — "Paul J. Hintersteiner, New York, New York." He was just a genuine, positive person, dedicated to professionalism who happened to wear a chauffeur's cap.

Like seeing the "perp," meeting Mr. Hintersteiner was, for me, another "Welcome to New York."

A few days later, it was time for me to go home. As I headed to the airport, I had a nagging feeling that I hadn't done something in my four days in New York. Then I realized what it was. There were still probably two or three people in Manhattan that I hadn't tipped.

The flight attendants on my plane were based in New York. When they pushed the food cart down the aisle, I declined the breakfast. I added, "But when you're serving drinks, I'd love some orange juice, please." The flight attendant looked at me as if I had just suggested that Los Angeles had better corned beef than New York. She answered in her New York accent, "Yeah, right. Like I'm going to remember your drink after I get done serving all this food." I guess that was New York-ese for, "Y'all come back soon." And I will.

By Lloyd Garver