"Do you wish to add a tip? Yes/No." There you are, fed and watered and liquored, the meal has filled up your senses like a night in a forest, you were blind with hunger but now you can see, you mopped up the plate with your tongue when you thought no one was looking and all you want to do now is go gently into that good night and die the beautiful death of sleep – but suddenly you have been slapped awake by a serious question asked of you as you swipe your card.
"Do you wish to add a tip? Yes/No." No one would ever actually come out and ask the question, so it's slipped in electronically, at a discrete remove, on the little Eftpos screen, at the end of your meal and the end of the evening, although it signals the start of something: anxiety.
It's such a terse and demanding question. It's a question that grabs you by the scruff of your neck, fixes you with an impassive stare and presents you with a stark choice: Yes/No. There's no room for the answer to most questions in life: "I don't know."
"Do you wish to add a tip? Yes/No." Do you believe in life after death? Is there a point to existence? Can we ever really know another person? Do you wish to add a tip? All the big questions in life are examinations of your moral code. A friend emailed me the other day, "I am very well — living as moral a life as I can hope and this is a daily task because it's very hard to live well in such a sick world that rewards sickness. But I try and fail and I suppose this is the texture of life … What is weak is to say one is moral when one is not. An all-too-familiar phenomenon in the world and a position to which I can relate at times as it is a life-long wrestle." God knows how she handles the yes/no tip inquisition.
"Do you wish to add a tip? Yes/No." It's not that difficult.