How About We Settle On A (32)BJ Instead?

We know tipping doormen is stressful enough without all this economic meltdown stuff:

“I know tenants have money—in the past some have given me $400,” says one doorman* who works at a historic building on Park Avenue at 62nd Street. “The lowest tip is usually $20. But we’re preparing for tips to be even lower this year.” In an effort to generate larger gifts, staffers say they’re scurrying to deliver packages with a smile. But they’re also employing intimidation tactics.

“I’ve seen the doormen taking notes,” says a nervous 28-year-old writer who lives with her boyfriend on the UWS. She’s been lucky to hold on to her job, but she reports that the value of her investment portfolio has plummeted. “When people give them the envelope, they mark it down. When I moved into the building in 2005, I was planning to give $80 to the doorman, but I talked to someone else who lived here, who said she was giving $200, so I felt guilted into giving $100. I’m sure I give a lot less than others in the building, so when the staff doesn’t come quickly if I call down for help with deliveries, I fear it’s because I didn’t tip enough.”

She’s probably right. At a luxury building at Fifth Avenue and 60th Street, the shop steward says, “Anything under $50 is considered a bad tip. Some tenants give $20, a few give $400 and some don’t give at all—and I can tell you the staff treats [the nongivers] differently. If a bad-tipping tenant calls down for help, the doormen make them wait a little longer. The biggest tippers get the best service.” The doorman of a chichi co-op at Park Avenue and 55th Street says that while even chintzy tippers get bare-bones service, he’s developed tactics for exacting revenge: “Let’s say you pull up in a cab with a bunch of packages. Maybe I’ll just happen to be on the phone.”