Just The Tip: A Server's Guide to the World of Food, Gratuity and Vicarious Living

I am Nick Massimilian and have been living the restaurant life for over six years. Like many in this industry, I started out with the grunts at the bottom of the corporate food-chain slinging Jim Dandy Sundaes to rude, sweaty and morbidly obese customers at a well-known, national ice-cream and coffee chain in Charlestown, Massachusetts. I knew full well that an extra scoop of marshmallow topping or the bonus peanut butter cup would result in a spike in the incidence of coronary thrombosis amongst our patrons. Still, on a base level, I felt that first glimmer of the pleasure that comes from serving and a genuine sense of reward from making people happy. I worked at Friendly’s for nine months before Ma Dukes decided it was time for me to return home to Rochester, NY, and leave behind the Townie backdrop. I should add that she was worried about me getting my ass kicked by the Irish gangs in the neighborhood who harassed me when I walked home from work every night. Justifiably.

Being broke, dry and essentially cut-off financially, I had no choice but to take the skills I had learned scooping ice cream to screaming children and their lumbering parents and matriculate them into a career. Consistency has always been a stumbling block for me so wisely I thought maybe a corporate restaurant chain would be the solution. If anything, corporate is consistent.

Corporate also reeks! It’s plastic and cold, but those checks rarely bounce. Mom was in a good mood and slightly buzzed so I got to take the car keys and off to Jefferson Road I went.

My first (and only) stop led to what I will dub the Mac Shack, where I have since been employed  through different mediums and locations for six years. In the beginning I bussed tables and swept up after hordes of ill-behaved Canadian adolescents and fifty million fucking split-checks, all by jersey number. Oh – and on a side note – while Ma and Pa Maple Leaf sucked back Blue Lites, their kids thought it was hilarious to get up and change seats to confuse the servers as well as use the crayons on the table to do as much destruction as possible in the fifteen minutes before their food came. Persevering, I moved up to host, then server and bartender until after about three years of drinking the Kool-Aid I was offered a management position.

Admittedly, deep down I still have a true affinity and respect for my first “real” restaurant. It was at the Mac Shack that I learned to break my back for others and to sacrifice for the coffers of home office. I had a place; there was structure to my life, albeit fickle. For once I felt a sense of purpose. Dare I say  Stockholm Syndrome?


I will revisit this question throughout my gastronomic odyssey.

Currently my focus and muse for motivation (outside of the pursuit of duckets) is in a privately owned, semi fine dining establishment located in the Rochester's "Neighborhood of the Arts." It is far and away the closest I have come to feeling a true sense of ownership of someone else’s establishment where passionate and skilled professionals strive to create something unique. People give a fuck. Simple as that. The focus of my contribution to this restaurant – as well as this publication – is to create an experience. For our guests and readers alike, I want to tell a story that lives up to the creativity and passion that is put into every side of root veg or hand-rolled gnocchi.

Importantly, this is an exploration into the diner’s experience and why we tip servers and staff for creating this experience. Tipping is such a cerebral concept, involving both one’s conscious as well as subconscious sensibilities. The right word well timed, or elegant body gesture, can change everything. I want to understand the “why” behind it, and this is my first step.