Wednesday, Nov. 20, 2002 - 4:27 p.m.

10:05 a.m. Our FedEx lady, Mary, was all smiles this morning as she happily delivered two FedEx envelopes and a FedEx Courier Pak. Unaware that she had teeth I kept asking her what brought on the toothy grin but she refused to divulge her unusual chipperness simply saying how much she "loved loved loved" the holiday season. Bullshit. When a FedEx�er says they enjoy the holiday season there is most definitely something up, way up.

11:10 a.m. Knoxville offered to not only run and get me but buy me a Starbucks decaf venti gingerbread latte. Okay not as odd as was witnessing a smile on Mary but still odd.

11:35 a.m. Called to schedule a haircut and my stylist personally got on the phone to make the appointment and was unusually flexible with his schedule. Is someone spreading the rumor that I�ve only got a month to live?

11:38 a.m. It finally dawns of me. It�s the season. Bonus and tipping season. The time of year when everyone from my dry cleaner to my chiropractor starts kissing my ass all the while hoping I don�t notice their Grinch-like hands riffling through my pockets in search of wallet, money clip or spare change with goal of picking me clean before the other vultures catch on I�m ripe. Now I�m all for tipping but where�s mine? I tip my haircutter 20% every time I get a cut. Am I really expected to tip additionally at Christmas? Shouldn�t he be gifting me as a thank you for continued patronage? Do I really have to tip my FedEx, UPS and mail carriers? Come on, am I really expected to tip my garbage man for service well done? I�ll ask it again, "Where�s mine?" If the garbage man wants a tip this December then it won�t be before a thank you from him for my tireless effort in always recycling, always knotting my trash bags and always having the cans sidewalk accessible. No thank you note, no tip.

2:18 p.m. As I finish up lunch my food server drops off the check and while making eye contact for the first time today thanks me for coming. Ding ding ding, tip time and I�m thinking, yeah, I�ve got a couple tips for her: when someone says rye bread they don�t mean wheat toast; don�t look so put out when asked for more water; don�t try to wipe clean a dirty utensil on a dirty apron; don�t try to sell me on dessert like I�m a three year old; and don�t think just because you moved her six months ago all the way from your mama�s house in Cat Gut Falls, South Carolina to a non-air-conditioned $1,200 a month studio apartment in Van Nuys to become a starlet who hasn�t got an agent hasn�t got a SAG card hasn�t been plucked from the masses of wannabes to guest star on your favorite one-hour drama, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, that I owe you a twenty-percent tip cause guess what, I don�t!

2:22 p.m. Note to self: no more caffeine

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