The world doesn't owe you a living.

My parents used to say that to me. And every time they did, it made me mad.

We went to lunch at a fancy schmancy sandwich place called Rita Flora. Actually, I don't think I'd ever eaten there, even though I've driven past it hundreds of times. It's next door to and connected with a flower shop.

We only went there because your mom was hungry and when she gets hungry--especially now that you're in there--she needs to eat, and right away. We wanted to go to Jones, which is a very trendy, clubby place right across the street from one of the lots (that's film speak for the place where they make movies), but they were closed by the time we got there.

Your mom mentioned Rita Flora and so there we went.

Typical L.A., the service was... casual. When the waiter finally stopped by, your mom ordered a waffle and bacon. The bacon didn't come with the waffle. When I asked the waiter about it, he went and put in the order. I had a goat cheese sandwich with a salad. The salad didn't have dressing. No apology, no explanation.

I say this is typical L.A. because while many places, being a waiter is a proud profession, in L.A., waiting tables is the job of choice for wannabe actors, screenwriters, and directors. The pay is good, the work is usually flexible, the hours are amenable to having meetings, and the tips are tax-free. Here, one never aspires to being a waiter. It's a stepping stone to something better and when someone claims to be, say, an actor, it's not unusual for the response to be, "Really? What restaurant?"

There's an apocryphal story about a waiter who gets to serve Steven Spielberg. He's so nervous that he drops things, gets the order wrong, and spills food. He finally blubbers an apology. "Mr. Spielberg," he says, "I'm so sorry. But you see, I'm not really a waiter. I'm an actor." Mr. Spielberg replies, "Then act like a waiter."

Where was I? Oh yeah, tipping.

It's become customary to tip 20% in L.A., and that amount is more and more being calculated on the final bill--meaning that it's normal to tip on the sales tax as well as the food. Right now, sales tax is 8 1/4%, so on a $100 bill, the total would come to $108.25, and with a 20% tip that would make it a $132.06. In other words, what you pay is a third more than what your food costs. In a restaurant like Rita Flora, a goat cheese sandwich and a waffle came to $30. I realize that as you read this, $30 is probably not a whole lot to pay for lunch. But today, even in L.A., it's a bit pricey. To put it into perspective, I just filled up the tank of my car for $39, the car payment itself is $412, and our rent is $1854.

So we decided not to leave a tip.

Why am I telling you this? Because we're tired of paying for things we don't get. I hired a lawyer two years ago who made me pay a retainer. He did some work and then refused to return the remainder of the retainer. About the same time, my accountant--someone who I considered a friend--started billing her services to my credit card. And then didn't pay the credit card bill. And then didn't tell me that she wasn't paying the credit card bill, so that in addition to late fees and interest charges, the interest rate itself was being raised to the 30% range.

I blame L.A., and it is fairly endemic here. People try to get away with doing as little as possible, and feel put out when they actually have to do work. I've occasionally been guilty of this myself, and so has your mother. And it's not right. So we've decided to take responsibility and change that.

The first part of the responsibility means doing what we commit to, no matter how inconvenient it may be.

The second part means confronting situations where others expect to be paid when they don't do anything to deserve that payment. So I took my complaint about the lawyer to the California Bar, took my complaint about the accountant to the California Board of Accountancy, and filed a grievance about the waiter with the California Waiters Guild.

No, I'm kidding about the last one. But we didn't tip him.

It's the first time I didn't leave a tip at a restaurant, and in fairness to the waiter, his infractions were fairly minor. But a tip is not a tax. A tip is for service. The waiter got most of the food to the table. Giving him a tip for that would be rewarding him for doing an inadequate job.

We felt guilty, too. We almost snuck out of the restaurant, after double- and triple-checking to make sure we had everything with us. The last thing we'd want was to have to come back in for a pair of sunglasses or something.

By the time you're old enough to read this, your mom and I will probably have gotten more comfortable with the notion of not tipping when the service doesn't warrant it. And you will have been embarrassed every time. And not just for that, but for hundreds of other things we do that seem weird to you but that we're totally self-righteous about.

I'm not apologizing, but I am explaining.

Your mom and I believe in doing what's right. The older we get, the more it matters to us. When we were young, we cared more about fitting in. About not making waves. About being cool.

You don't get this yet. Not the first time you read this and probably not until we're both either really old or dead. But eventually, we hope--we believe--that you'll come to more or less the same place.

This is important: The reason we hope you'll come to the same place is not so that you'll be like us, but so you'll be yourself.

I know. That sounds really stupid. Eventually it won't. I hope I'm still around when that happens.