I was in the nation’s capital last weekend for vacation and I woke up one morning with a craving for doughnuts. I looked up the best doughnut shops in the DMV and I found a delightful one called District Doughnut. My host and I traveled to the doughnut shop and we bought a handful of doughnuts. I paid for the doughnuts and coffee and did not leave a tip when prompted. My host, in our ever-loving group chat, made a joke that he witnessed me not tipping the worker and quipped about my so-called advocacy for workers’ rights. A well-placed joke in the company where I veer further to the political left than most (Jesus Takes A Side, y’all). After scarfing down a blueberry, strawberry, and lemon bar doughnut, another flavor caught my eye, it was a doughnut with everything topping (the kind used on bagels) and it was stuffed with chive cream cheese – I couldn’t believe I skipped over this culinary innovation during my first peruse of the menu. When I made the additional transaction to purchase the savory doughnut, which was delicious, by the way, I tipped on the entire order. It was a moment where I realized that my friend's public shaming of me worked. I was a little bit embarrassed that my friend called me out – but it wasn’t particularly oppressive or painful – just an admission that, honestly, I did the wrong thing in not tipping the worker. I corrected it and moved on. Would I have done so without the call out? Maybe. Would a “call in” have worked better? Possibly. But the public (insofar as a private groupchat is “public”) worked this time and though I felt some of the sting, I responded to it, and tipped the worker as I should have.
When shame is useful
When shame is useful
When shame is useful
I was in the nation’s capital last weekend for vacation and I woke up one morning with a craving for doughnuts. I looked up the best doughnut shops in the DMV and I found a delightful one called District Doughnut. My host and I traveled to the doughnut shop and we bought a handful of doughnuts. I paid for the doughnuts and coffee and did not leave a tip when prompted. My host, in our ever-loving group chat, made a joke that he witnessed me not tipping the worker and quipped about my so-called advocacy for workers’ rights. A well-placed joke in the company where I veer further to the political left than most (Jesus Takes A Side, y’all). After scarfing down a blueberry, strawberry, and lemon bar doughnut, another flavor caught my eye, it was a doughnut with everything topping (the kind used on bagels) and it was stuffed with chive cream cheese – I couldn’t believe I skipped over this culinary innovation during my first peruse of the menu. When I made the additional transaction to purchase the savory doughnut, which was delicious, by the way, I tipped on the entire order. It was a moment where I realized that my friend's public shaming of me worked. I was a little bit embarrassed that my friend called me out – but it wasn’t particularly oppressive or painful – just an admission that, honestly, I did the wrong thing in not tipping the worker. I corrected it and moved on. Would I have done so without the call out? Maybe. Would a “call in” have worked better? Possibly. But the public (insofar as a private groupchat is “public”) worked this time and though I felt some of the sting, I responded to it, and tipped the worker as I should have.