When I was young there was a type of small red candy that, when you bit down on them, would explode with a sharp cinnamon and cloves taste, sometimes so intensely it made you sneeze. There are memories like those spice bombs, incidents that flare up and just as quickly fade.
When I was a teenager, I worked as carry-out boy at a local supermarket. The store had a no-tipping policy. Local people knew the rule and the issue rarely came up with them...maybe once every couple of years. From time to time a tourist would offer a tip, which I would politely decline and that would be it. No big deal.
Then one day I took a couple of bags of groceries out to a car for this American tourist, a hunter I think. When the groceries were in his car, he offered me a tip. I declined with, "No that’s alright, they pay me," and he offered again. So I told him the store policy. He grew red-faced and angry. When I persisted in refusing, he yelled, "Take the goddamned money!" and threw the coins on the ground.
I shrugged and walked back to the store. That was years ago, but I find myself wondering about it from time to time. What is hidden behind the apparent simplicity of tipping? And what did it mean to that guy?
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