My grocery delivery guy is prohibited from accepting tips, upon penalty of termination. And while his job is not exactly moving pianos, schlepping groceries all day is no fun. Especially since most people—like me—order the heavy liquid items for delivery, then buy salad greens at the store. This week it’s even worse; as everyone is buying turkeys and big cans of pumpkin.
Still, I always ask, even knowing what he’ll say. So tonight I did it different:
As he was headed out the door I indicated a ten dollar bill I was holding, and mentioned that I’d seen it blowing by like a leaf, while he was busy lugging in those six cases of water and two flats of on-sale apple juice we ordered. Since I was wearing sweats, I pointed out, I had no pockets. So it only stood to reason that it had fallen out of his.
He stared at me a minute, smiled, amd reminded me for the umteenth time me that he couldn’t accept tips. Then he wished me a Happy Thanksgiving, observed that we’d bought a good bird, and slid the bill in his shirt.