Anticipating our tips made us edgy. We’d all come to understand there was absolutely no way to know what to expect from people. That a guest might have been especially friendly or personable in no way assured you a good tip. This was as true for those to whom you had been accommodating and to whose peculiar idiosyncrasies you were finely tuned as it was for the gruff and irascible. The meanest bastard might surprise you with an act of astonishing generosity. Despite this knowledge some of the staff persisted in figuring their take over coffee before the dining room opened for breakfast. Toting up their expected tips, some with pads and pencils, some staring up at the fluorescent lights suspended from the ceiling, their jaws slightly agape as they did the arithmetic in their heads, this group of dining room staff resembled the habitues of a betting parlor during the racing season. Usually, the tips had already been decided by the Friday preceding the weekend but were not handed out until the coffee had been served and the farewells and goodbyes exchanged between the guests who were leaving and those who were staying on.
What do You think about Summer Accommodations: A Novel?
