Here's a tipping story from 38 years ago.
We had a brand new baby and a toddler when the wife "forced" me to go from Va. to Redding Pa. to shop at the outlet malls for kids clothes. Her parents watched the kids at home as we made it into an overnight get away. I hate shopping of almost any kind,but I toughed it out for the family.
I vividly remember standing at the window inside of a converted factory building in the Osh Kosh store.I was already holding two bags of previously purchased girls outfits..As I looked out the window from two floors up I spotted one of those iconic corner hometown, no frills Pennsylvania bars. I told Mrs Gator that she could shop as long as she wanted and with her permission I would be waiting on a bar stool to carry bags back to the car when she finished.
The inside of the bar was comfortably seedy with a house cat snaking his way passed the booze bottles. There was five gallon glass jar of purple hard boiled eggs on one end of the bar.The dozen or so guys inside seemed to know each other as they watched a baseball game with the sound off.
I ordered a shot of Jack and an Iron City beer..the beer came in a short glass.(is that a PA.thing?) .maybe 10 oz. Bartender said $1.20..I asked for both?.He confirmed that that was the cost was so I put $10 bucks on the bar and said keep em' coming.
After a couple of hours Mrs Gator came to collect me.I thanked the barkeep for his time and stories..and left what I thought was an appropriate tip under the empty shot glass..We were halfway across the street when the bartender came running out and yelled hey mister..you forgot your money!! I told him that that was his..He shook his head and said that nobody does that here..He thanked me and went back inside.
Mrs Gator said,How much did you leave him for a tip..I said $10 bucks on top a six dollar bar tab.
She laughed and considered the money well spent for the adult day care and my lack of complaining while she shopped.
I still hate shopping
Great story.
Shoulda had one of the eggs!
Used to be a divey tavern my friends' band played regularly at, and they had that jar of eggs. The jar was covered in grime and filth and about a 1/2" layer of fuzz around the bulging upper sides near the equally fuzzy lid with only its outer edges devoid of accumulated "lint+". Though frequented, I only ever saw a couple people ever buy one of those eggs, the barkeep gingerly handling the lid so as not to upset the layers of filth. Finally one time my OCD kicked in and I got talking with the bartender eventually steering the conversation to the jar and told him to give it a wipe, he just said "No way" and then put me on ignore.
Fast-forward 20-30 years and I have my first taste of a pickled egg, for unknown reasons. Suddenly it dawned on me the whole schtick with the grimy jar — those "in-the-know" aren't going to buy pickled eggs unless they've been there for evvvvvvuuuurrrrr. I know this because I remember seeing the barkeep top up the grimey jar at the end of the bar with some eggs from a giant fresh clean jar. The long con...
I pickle my own eggs now, with a little spice thrown in.
Kookookachoo, I am the egg, man.
I hate shopping, too.
for over a year, but it kept getting pushed back for more fun & exciting projects... 
