Heaven's Stance on Tipping

St. Peter says, "Yeah, yeah, welcome to Heaven's side gate. We apologize for the inconvenience in denying you the blissful awe of standing before our main gate, but due to reconstruction after the protests, we are limiting access to our small, more secure, side gate entrance."

"That's okay," I say. "Even if it is in an ally. And there's so much garbage."

"We discard our waste here responsibly," St. Peter says. "But it's those lost souls of Purgatory who are late for pick-up. Excuse us for that too. But by no means is the side gate, a lesser gate, I assure you. Many great souls have passed through this very entrance."

"Like who?" I ask.

"Well, erm. It has been quite some time since we have used the side-gate, so you maybe not be familiar with the names. Does Filippo Brunelleschi ring a bell?"

"No?"

"Dante Alighieri?"

"Dante passed through the side-gates?"

"Heaven's no. He's in hell. But they were pretty close in time, he and Filippo."

"Okay," I say.

"Oh, you know who from your time has passed through here, just the other day actually? The Tiger King."

"Tiger King got into Heaven?"

"Well, sort of snuck in. But we're working on that. That guy should not be here."

"..."

"Anyway," St. Peter says, "It's not really a big deal. I mean, what matters most is that you get into Heaven, am I right? Who cares what door gets you into the dance once you're at the dance!"

"I guess."

"So, Nick Farriella, I, St. Peter welcome you. I see here you have undoubtably heavenly qualities. Your strongest, is how you maintained your sense of humor during the disastrous episode of the twenty-first century. God takes that into consideration, you know. The Times. While in some other centuries, good-will, holiness, or faith were esteemed the necessary quality of the saved. In yours, which even God admits he went overboard with––sorry about that, too––just being able to laugh is enough."

"Wow," I say. "I feel like that's pretty low bar."

"Sure," St. Peter says. "I mean, yeah, you had, like, the easiest century, comparatively, but God is up on all of the new literature. Physic pain and the modern ails and all that. Plus, we're tired, man."

"You're tired?"

"Totally. We've been running this for so long, it's like, what are we even doing anymore?"

"I hear you."

"Okay, moving on. You've never recorded a TikTok, good; you've never shared a password for a streaming service, only to your mother, which doesn't count; you always let a merging car into your lane. Wow, in New Jersey, impressive; you always said hello to dogs, those are our angels, by the way; you treated both children and elders with the same respect; you listened to Bob Dylan––God just loves him, Street-Legal, am I right? You always followed back on socials; knew right before you've had one too many cocktails; never said 'gracias' to a server in a Mexican restaurant. Hmm, you maybe read too much, a bit antisocial of you but fine. Oh, you were a writer. Okay, not the best. Not too many of those here. Oh, but you never described your intentions in your work to anyone, never imposed your opinion of taste, never uttered the words, 'you should read my book' at a party. Great."

"You really consider everything, huh? I thought you would consider more weightier things, like how much I gave to charity."

"Eek. You really could have given more to charity, man."

"I tried."

"You were a writer, broke, it's okay. God actually cares less about charity now."

"What? Why?"

"Eh, it's been so commodified, taken over by the wealthy that it's practically a sin. Pity, vanity, tax purposes, what have you. Well, except for the actual charitable, but they are saints, which you are not."

"Of course."

"What God really is big on for your century, though? Tipping."

"No way."

"Oh yes. In the capital-heightened times of mass profit and poverty, but also opportunity and commerce, exaggerated ability to purchase, what better judge of how you treat your fellow person, than whether and how you tip."

"But Tipping isn't even a thing in Europe."

"God has already expressed his thoughts on Europe."

"That recent flood?"

"No, their tiny roads. Driving there is terrible! Anyway, back to you."

"I've tipped."

"Yes, baristas, barbers, bar tenders, delivery drivers and coat checks. Taxis, movers, valet and servers."

"And ice cream shops."

"Ah yes, because children work there. But what about retail stores?"

"Retail? I'm the shopper! It's not like they made the stuff."

"I see. But what about when ordering take out?"

"For take-out, I have a policy."

"Ah yes, a policy. I bet you feel like when you order take out, you feel you are paying for the labor, and not the service. That you are performing the service yourself, by commuting to pick the food up."

"Exactly."

"This is a damnable excuse. But, please, your policy."

"Well," I say. "It depends."

"Ah, see. Depends on?"

"Well for one if it was a small business."

"And who are you to decide if a business is small? Is that pride?"

"Well, you know, a 'mom and pop' place. A local restaurant, family owned, where it's their sole income."

"Give me an example."

"Well, Ocean Garden. My beloved Chinese spot."

"Yes, I see you ate there, uh, twice, sometimes three times a week. Jesus, man."

"I always tipped. They're a nice local family, I taught their kids."

"Okay, what about Gino's Pizza?"

"Eh, sometimes."

"Right. Maybe during the holidays, I see. Or when you once placed third in a short story competition at small literary magazine and won $300."

"Yes, when I felt charitable, or asked for the pie to be 'well-done.' But Ginos? They're kind of a chain."

"I'd hardly consider three locations in North Jersey a chain."

"But they have one of those flippy iPad things."

"Oh, I hate those," St. Peter says.

"Right? That's also in my policy. I hate to be pressured by those. Recommending percents? On a ten-dollar slice of pizza? Get outta here!"

"Hey, watch it."

"Sorry, St. Peter."

"It's okay. It's tough being human, I know. I understand the gripes of having to tap through a tip option before presenting your form of payment. I empathize with the having little money and a lot of guilt, trying to the best you can for both yourself and your fellow man. But in accordance with God's policy, there is one entity in which you should have tipped but never did."

"..."

"Bar Trivia hosts."

"You're supposed to tip those guys?!"

"Yes! These were the mystics of your time, bestowing knowledge of high and low upon humankind, uniting all with the merry pleasure of the combination of history and hilarious wordplay. These worldly beings under the cloak of disheveled parental-basement dwellers and gamer-stink were severely underpaid and underappreciated. For your forsakenness of this kind, with your ironic answering, disregard of the sanctity of trivia night, and lack of tipping, I damn thee to fire and brimstone and an eternity long pub quiz!"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes! Now, go! But wait, hey, before you do, would you care to rate your experience? And yeah, there's an option to leave a tip."