The Tip Jar

October had arrived, bringing Halloween and our annual tradition of turning our home into a welcoming stop for the local trick-or-treaters. My wife and I spent the afternoon preparing the treats. We liked to use those little paper bags and load them with treats such as Kit Kats, little bags of M&Ms, and mini Hershey's bars. We felt that the children would appreciate the mix, a little mystery as each child opened up the bag.

The evening went as usual. Children would come, cheerfully yell “Trick or Treat,” and receive their just rewards. Then, there was the superhero and the princess, two definite outliers in the trick-or-treat population. I couldn’t make out their faces because of the plastic masks, but I gathered the boy was twelve years old and the girl was about four or five years younger.

Our interaction began innocently enough with the usual Halloween-inspired exchange.

“Trick or Treat!” yelled the boy and the girl in unison.

“Why, hello there!” my wife said. “I see that you are a superhero, young man!”

“And I’m a princess!” chimed the princess.

“I see that,” I said as I dropped a prepared bag of candy into each of the children’s bags. “Those are very nice costumes.”

“Thank you, mister,” said the boy.

“Yes, thank you very much,” the princess said, illustrating the decorum one would expect from a princess.

Then the boy reached into his bag and pulled out an orange plastic cup. On the cup was the image of a black cat and a witch on a broomstick. In the middle, printed in wide script, were the words “Thank You.”

Confused, I asked, “What’s this, young man? Is it part of the costume?”

“In a way it is,” he said.

The boy rattled the orange plastic cup to demonstrate its contents. It was mostly loose candy, lollipops, or gum, nothing big like a Kit Kat or Hershey bar.

“What is this for?” I said. “Are you showing me some of the candy you received? It’s very impressive indeed!”

“Oh no, it’s a tip jar,” he said. “Do you see the ‘Thank You’ on it? About twenty percent gratuity would do.”

“What, you want money?” my wife asked.

“Oh no, in candy, of course,” the boy said. “Candy is the only acceptable currency during Halloween.”

“And sometimes apples. But apples are always a disappointment for me,” lamented the princess.

I don’t know what was more disconcerting, the fact the child had a tip jar or that China was manufacturing tip jars for such an occasion.

“We just gave you a bag of candy,” I said. “Why should we give you more?”

“Why, for our performance, of course,” the boy reasoned. “It’s not easy walking around in these itchy synthetic costumes designed by an industry that insists on using the cheapest available materials. We performers bring you pure innocent delight as we cheerfully announce our presence with the tried-and-true greeting ‘trick or treat.’ Your part in this contract is to provide candy for the presentation and goodwill we bring to the table. My dad, an accountant, even says goodwill has an entry in accounting, so I must be worth a little extra candy!”

My wife and I looked at each other, not knowing what to say. That didn’t matter much since the boy continued his reasoning.

“And being persons of your significant age, you also want evidence of some sort of continuity in our civilization as you see children—that’s us!—try out new personae as we journey toward adulthood.”

“My mom’s friends—who by the way have lots of cats—told me my costume is and, ana, and-ka…”

“…anachronistic,” the boy corrected. Of course he would know that.

“…anachronistic and what girls shouldn’t aspire to. But I thought I’d give it a try, and you know what, it’s fun. I especially like my wand and tapping my brother on the head with it.”

And she gave her brother more of a tap than necessary on his head.

“Hey, quit it!” protested the boy.

“So we’re not just giving you candy,” I said. “It’s a form of compensation for the ‘service’ you provide?”

“Exactly,” the boy replied.

“So the bag of candy is inadequate and we need to give you a tip to show our true appreciation?”

“Correctamundo,” the boy said with bravado. “Tip jars are everywhere. No matter what store I go to with my mom, there is a tip jar. The people are being paid by the employer, but it’s up to the buyer to close the gap. So of course it applies to us, too.”

To underscore this, the boy rattled the jar once again.

I was getting a little annoyed by this time, and so apparently was my wife by her demeanor. We wanted this conversation to end. Besides, this little know-it-all with a freakish adult-like countenance that only Peanuts characters seemed to have was giving me the creeps. I shudder to think what he will do as an adult if he goes into AI or, even worse, politics.

“OK, what would count as twenty percent in candy?”

The boy took the bag of candy that my wife dropped into his bag, held it near his right ear, shook it, and listened to the rustling sound.

“I would suspect there’s a Kit Kat, the abbreviated two-stick version of course, a small Snickers bar, two lollipops, and a Bazooka Joe gum. So twenty percent would be like—” He glanced at our display of candy. “—a butterscotch candy.”

“Fine, fine.” I grabbed two candies and put one in his tip jar. By this time the girl had produced her tip jar, and I dropped one in hers as well.

“Thank you very much,” said the girl.

“Thank you, sir,” said the boy. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you!”

And off the little thespians went, running into the darkness, the boy first, the girl trailing with her wand high up in the air.