One of the biggest benefits to partying in Oakland is that it’s relatively cheap. Most… One of the biggest benefits to partying in Oakland is that it’s relatively cheap. Most people don’t need a cab to get there, you can always count on consistent drink specials and I have yet to pay a cover charge.

But, like anywhere else, the Oakland bar scene can get old fast and to break the monotony we must venture to other parts of the city – but that’s where it can really get pricey.

When I turned 21, I was warned that my bank account would take a turn for the worse. I didn’t believe it. I considered myself a relatively strong pre-gamer and figured that if I could buy a whole fifth of Admiral Nelson for $8, drinks at the bar couldn’t be that expensive. I was, of course, very wrong.

I don’t have much of a problem spending a lot on drinks because you only have three options: shell out the dough, hope some kind soul buys you a drink or leave the bar. I’ll spend the money, but I draw a line. And that line is at the bathroom attendant.

I’m referring to the people who sit in bar bathrooms handing out paper towels, dispensing soap, monitoring the bathroom’s condition and talking to drunks. I’ve seen bathroom attendants in fancy restaurants and when I’d go to the bathroom my mom would give me a buck to tip them. You really don’t have a choice. You’re in a fancy restaurant – it would be insulting to suggest that you can dish out the money for the meal but can’t spare a buck.

But the bars I’m referring to are not high class. Not to imply that they’re low class, it’s just that for the quality of the establishment, paying a $5 cover charge, above-average drink prices and tipping the bartenders should be enough.

I’m more than capable of getting my own paper towels and pumping some soap into my wet hands – I actually prefer to control my own soap distribution. I don’t tip them because they haven’t performed a true service for me.

I’m more than willing to tip at restaurants: I tip for the service of being waited on and the service of having food prepared for me. I simply refuse to equate the service of a waitress or a bartender – who are often working in high stress situations and are being pulled in 10 directions – to that of a bathroom attendant who sits on a chair in a bathroom and barely extends her arm to hand me a towel.

I understand that these people need to pay the bills – but come on! Half the time you have to wait for soap because the woman is talking to drunk girls, often counseling them on what they should do about their boy problems. And sometimes when they see you throw that towel away, realizing that you’re not going to tip, they get attitude. They’ll let out exasperated sighs or remind you that they’re “working solely on tips.” After that, it’s even harder for me to feel inclined to tip.

And what are the rules here? What’s the bathroom-use tip ratio? Should we tip based on the frequency of bathroom visits? Number of paper towels we’re given? Before I refused to tip, I would tip after my first use, thinking I would be in the clear for at least a few more bathroom visits, but after every use I could feel the attendants’ eyes burning into me – trying to guilt a tip out of me.

I resent that we have to accept their “service.” There are no alternate paper towels you can acquire on your own just as she’s often in possession of the lone soap container. In a hotel, if you don’t want to tip the bellboy, you can take your luggage up to your room yourself. Unlike the bathroom, you have the choice. But I refuse to feel guilty for not tipping because I didn’t ask for your service in the first place. The only other option is not washing your hands – a sure fire way to decrease your hygienic status and get looks from other people in the bathroom.

I don’t want to come off as an insensitive snob – I understand they’re probably not working their ideal job. I know that most have kids to support. But the image of spoiled college kids with tons of disposable income doesn’t always hold up – a lot of us also worked for our money and believe that paying to get in and to drink is enough. And when one is employed by a place mostly frequented by college students, she can’t expect us to be as generous as those older adults with real jobs and real income.

Maybe one day I’ll have that type of money. Maybe I’ll have the money to pay someone to tie my shoes, scratch my itches and flush the toilet for me. But until then, I’m totally fine with – and would actually prefer to – get soap and paper towels for myself.

How do you tip? E-mail Anjali at [email protected].