"No Service, No Tip" Becomes "No Tip, No Service" -- A Williamsburg Story

Last Friday night began like many Fridays nights past; meeting friends for happy hour drinks at around 7, and not making any concrete plans but rather waiting to see where the night would go from there. The next thing we knew, my friend and I had left the west side bar, hopped on the L to Brooklyn w/2 girls we'd met, and wound up outside an old warehouse for a true Williamsburg dance party.

Now I don't claim to know everything about Brooklyn's Williamsburg neighborhood, but here is what I do know: it's a quaint, relatively safe neighborhood a few stops into Brooklyn off the L. It's pretty chill, but trendy and thus feels pretentious at times; this area is also know for it's relatively high concentration of hipsters. We pay the $3 coat check, get our hand stamped, and enter into a dark and hazy space with loud house music blaring and silhouetted figures in clumps everywhere. The smell of weed lingered in the air; occasionally orange embers from cigarettes illuminated people's faces. The party seemed to attract a niche audience, a certain, "underground" crowd-I wouldn't have known about it if not for my free-spirited, "Brooklyn socialite" friend-a girl who I only describe as a socialite insofar as she know what's happening in Brooklyn at all times.

As I'm ordering a beer, I'm told the bar is cash-only. I put down $4 (no tip) for a Budweiser, but find I'm out of cash and with no ATMs in sight (I'd even asked the bouncer; no one knew where the nearest one was), I could either forget it or just ask my friend to borrow some cash. Maybe I should have done the former, but I inevitably asked to borrow $4 more and set it down this time in front of a female bartender. At first glance, this chick definitely fit the aloof hipster profile: wool cap, very alternative clothing, smoking a cigarette, and all the while staring at me with a stoic, almost disapproving, glance. As she set the beer down, she counted the money, and put her hand on the Bud. "You need to tip," she said. I looked at her first in disbelief, and then in wonderment, realizing never before in my life had any server said anything like this. Waiters, cabbies, delivery guys-you name it, we've all come in contact with hundreds-no one ever refuses service if you don't tip. The first thing that came to my mind, and then almost immediately to my lips, was, "are you serious? That's really unprofessional." She glared back at me, and said quite nastily, "does this look like a professional place to you? If you don't tip you're not getting the beer." She snatched the beer from me, and muttered something like, "if you try me, I'll get you kicked out of here." I was pissed at this point, and really did want another beer, so I asked my friend for another single. I called Polly Sunshine back, set the money down, and she almost tossed the beer at me, saying nothing and then walked away. I said, very sarcastically, "YOU'RE WELCOME!!" and then the male bartender said, "Fuck you! Don't give her attitude!" or something like that.


As a former server, I completely understand the importance of tipping and almost ALWAYS tip bartenders. For some reason that night, I didn't feel like tipping; maybe it was the coat check, maybe I was salty about not being able to use credit/debit, Ultimately, for better or worse, it is the choice of the patron, and I chose not to.