Now all of you reading this Blog should know that I am an even tempered, friendly, and likeable sort of guy. But some things do get me annoyed. One of these occasional things happened today. Or should I say last night. Following our trip to Brooklyn, we managed to get back to mid town Manhattan where our hotel....The Warwick, probably the grandest hotel I have ever stayed in is situated............ William Randolph Hearst built the Warwick New York Hotel in 1926 for $5 million. Long catering to the elite, Hearst built the 36-story residential tower to accommodate his Hollywood friends as well as his mistress, the actress Marion Davies, who had her own specially-designed floor in the building. The hotel's restaurant, Murals on 54, features the 1937 murals of American illustrator Dean Cornwell. The famed murals were fully restored following a 2004 renovation of the restaurant. The Warwick is also home to Randolph’s Bar & Lounge, whose rosebud leitmotif references Hearst’s purported nickname for Marion Davies...............Not bad for a trio of travelling chumps eh?
Anyway, as usual we decided that after a bit of chill out in the silence of our respective rooms, we would venture out into the melee that is Manhattan. They say that New York is the city that never sleeps. I don't know about that because I have never been awake in the small hours to check this out but Trish and I, unable to sleep for some reason, have taken to early morning walks. Even at 6.30 am life is all around and the mega hustle and bustle of the day has left the starting blocks. The early evening, twelve hours later is nothing less than mental. Traffic is all one way, depending what avenue you are on. It would be a good idea to extend this to humans as well. If I was managing a football or rugby team, there would be no better place to bring The Lads for body swerve training than the streets of mid town Manhattan. Somehow, with the dexterity that is usually reserved for ski slopes at high season, the ants somehow avoid collision. Life is all around, busy, rushing commuters, tourists ambling, joggers and nutters. Plenty of them.
Anyway, I am returning to the topic of tipping for my latest annoying event. We visited one of NYC many Asian restaurants. This one was less that salubrious from the outside. Merlin reckons that the tell tale sign of a cheapie is colour pictures of the food you are going to eat posted on the windows. But, cheap does not always mean bad food. And this establishment was no different. The food was really good, but the service was less so. It was the sort of service which would make you reluctant to leave any kind of reward, never mind the minimum ten percent expected here. I had decided that was what I was going to do. Until the 'check' arrived. Firstly, it was probably easier to decipher the Rosetta Stone than this small slip of paper. Our food order was written in some kind of script that would make your local GP jealous. And, to make maters worse, service charge, or gratuity or tip had already been added, at a whopping and undeserved 18%. My companions could see my hackles rising and started to shift uncomfortably in their seats. Trish gave me one of her 'let it be' looks and Merlin his impression of a First World War General, right behind his troops.........two miles behind. I was on my own. I made the first advance, sticking my head over the parapet as it were. My questions regarding the content of the check were batted right back. It was then that I realised the waiter's peculiarities of speech matched perfectly the text on the bill. I also realised that there was little to be gained by pursuing the matter of the excessive tip. So I stole their pen.
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