Vanessence: Whensday

The signpost said “Guilt,” and even though I’d been down that road before, I went anyway. I remembered when …

My husband asked, “How much do you think we should tip the moving guys?”

I blinked. I gulped. Guilt washed over me in waves. “You’re supposed to tip moving guys?”

“Yeah, you didn’t know that? Like pizza guys.”

More guilt, as a childhood memory slithered through my brain. Suddenly, I had a fork-tipped tongue of memories sliming me, seemingly separate, yet connected at the tip.

“No, I didn’t know you were supposed to tip moving guys. All my adult life I’ve always just had friends help with moving, I had no idea you were supposed to tip people who did it professionally.”

I sent up silent apologies to the guys who helped me move after my divorce. I had one day to get into the home I’d shared with my first husband, pack my stuff and get out. I knew it was too big a job for my friend and me to handle alone and she suggested I call a moving company. I called a few, got prices, and then scheduled one. All day those guys helped me pack and then move. I thought the price was the price – and it wasn’t cheap either. More than $100 an hour for 3 guys seemed like a reasonable price to pay, though. I had no idea moving men were supposed to get a tip, too.

I still blush with shame when I think about it, all these years later.

I didn’t know about the tip.

Which caused me to remember …

When I was a little girl, I knew nearly every single neighbor on the street where my father lived. Across the street from my bedroom window and two houses to the right, lived the Prims. All the teenaged girls in the neighborhood, including my sister, couldn’t stand Mrs Prim. Since I also knew all those teenaged girls – because most of them babysat me at one time or other – some of their distaste of her rubbed off on me. The Prims were very fastidious. They had matching cars. Mrs Prim always wore her hair in a bun. She had horn-rimmed glasses. She had a short strand of pearls she wore around the base of her throat. On Halloween, the Prims always made popcorn balls and brought the trick-or-treaters into their house for a spooky tour. The Prims didn’t have children, but everyone knew they wanted kids because they had a nursery completely set up in anticipation. I thought it was strange that they had twin beds in their bedroom. Only kids had twin beds, not grown-ups! And we knew they were grown-ups because when one of us kids asked, “How old are you?” Mrs Prim said with a smile, “I’m twenty-eight.” So yeah, too old for kid beds.

The reason the teenaged girls didn’t like Mrs Prim was because she was nosey. “Who was the boy that picked you up the other night? … Isn’t he a bit too old for you? … Aren’t you a bit young to be dating? … How many times have you gone out with him this week? … Are your parents okay with you dating that young man? … Do your parents know you’ve gone out with the same boy five times this month?”

You get the idea.

One of my babysitters, upon realizing that my bedroom window had a bird’s eye view to the Prim’s front door, had the idea to play a prank on them. I listened in as she called and ordered a large pizza to be delivered, and then we waited with bated breath, watching from my darkened room for the delivery guy to appear. When he showed up, the Prims stepped onto their porch, and we could see them shake their heads. Then the delivery guy left, with the pizza.

My babysitter and I sat giggling and guffawing in my room over the whole thing.

I still blush with shame when I think about it, all these years later.

I didn’t know about the tip.

It was really more of a prank on the pizza delivery guy, and on the pizza restaurant, than it was a prank on the Prims. The poor delivery guy, probably anticipating a big tip for a large pizza, only to be turned away. I know my babysitter felt bad about because months later she told me she felt guilty enough to go to the restaurant and give them the money they should have gotten, but I was still a kid and I had no idea pizza delivery guys got a tip. My father always sent my sister to pick up a pizza at the restaurant, we never had one delivered.

Who knew tips could be so complicated?

Which reminds me, I need to get some cash to tip the UPS guy.

Have an awesome Wednesday!