The psychology of tipping at Starbucks

Billions of words and hundreds of thousands of forum rants have been spilled on the topic of tipping. I personally tip my baristas to make sure that I get good service in the future - and the occasional free pastry at the end of the night.

But today - today I witnessed the whole concept of "tip as reward."

It was an eminently frustrating Starbucks experience on the whole though. I'd run in to my favorite store in the early evening to grab a raspberry passion tea lemonade before I set out for a three-hour meeting. The store is rarely busy after 6 p.m.

It wasn't busy today - there was only one customer.

But she was a humdinger - a wizened old crone well into the 80s - complete with bowed spine and delicate pink ballet flats.

I should not be uncharitable. The woman did nothing wrong - but she hogged the register for fifteen minutes and never actually budged. It was a classic case of "I AM THE ONE BEING WAITED ON - AND I WILL NOT BE USURPED."

I walk in and she's got three pounds of coffee sitting in front of the register. She wants them ground. All three pounds. All I want is my raspberry passion tea. But she was here first. And she ain't budging.

The barista - the only one I see - starts grinding. Grandma Grounds stares at her the entire time. Neither does she move from the cash register she stands there - in between the two registers - guarding them. Like a wrinkled Colossus of Rhodes in a purple pantsuit, staking her claim to the space and defying all who would pass and order the delicious mocha delights.

As soon as the coffee is ground, Grandma Grounds want coffees - two of them. It is like she KNOWS that I'm in a hurry.

But this really isn't about Grandma Grounds hogging up the register. This is about tipping.

The barista slaps three sleeves on two tall cups and runs them under the Three Region Blend spigot. She turns to Grandma Grounds and asks if she wants a carrier.

Blank stare.

The barista picks up one of the cardboard carriers and mimes putting a cup of coffee in it.

Grandma Grounds nods and her pursed lips crack in something that might resemble a grimace other than a frown. We can't call it a smile - because that would break her five thousand day streak of snarling countenances. But at least it wasn't a flaring nose.

And then a miracle happens.

Grandma Grounds starts fishing around in her purse and cracks the  basic black pocketbook back open. She fishes out a dollar and tries to hand it to the barista - obviously impressed at the effort to give her a cardboard tray.

The barista motions to her to put it in the tip jar.

I was dying to ask - "Was this your first time at Starbucks? Do you tip regularly? You ordered three pounds of ground coffee, two drinks and then only decided to tip because the barista offered you a tray - which they give out for FREE to everyone?"

I don't get it. I really don't.

I ordered my raspberry iced tea lemonade, tipped a dollar and scrammed.