My least favorite words to hear when out with friends at a restaurant are “Let’s just split the check.”
It’s not that I’m cheap–I mean it’s not just that I’m cheap–it’s that I don’t drink and my culinary tastes are beyond humble, so chances are very high that I’ve charged up way less than everyone else at the table–and in fact way less than everyone within miles.
And I’ve partly done so because I was planning on just paying for what I ordered!
If I had known we were going splits-ville, I would have asked for all kinds of appetizers, desserts, sides, and virgin cocktails, not just a solitary meatball and some tap water!
Just recently, I ate out with a group, who decided we should split things four-ways and pay $32 each (an amount that’s vividly etched in my mind for eternity. From that moment on, just hearing “32” makes me tremble, sweat, and spew pea soup.) But my share of the check had only been $18 plus tax and tip! I’d only had chicken and coffee, for chrissake!
I overreacted and really made a sad spectacle of it, but at least that got the group’s decision reversed. I ended up just paying for myself (plus a few extra bucks–I grudgingly forked over $25).
As Bette Davis said in the immortal Scream Pretty Peggy, “Was I so wrong?”