More over $800. That was Jack’s “boys’ night out” bill, and he expected his wife, Lora, to cover it. Waitress Melanie, seeing Lora’s anguish, devised a daring strategy to ensure Jack’s night did not end as he intended.
Ten years. That’s how long I’ve been serving at one of downtown’s upscale eateries. In my line of work, you encounter a variety of people: couples on first dates who are practically glowing, families celebrating birthdays with sticky-fingered children, and the occasional business lunch that seems more like an interrogation than a meeting. However, nothing could have prepared me for what happened the other night…
Jack and Lora used to be regulars. Cute as a button, she always smiles while dividing the bill. They’d come in once a week, order the same sumptuous chocolate cake for dessert, and exchange flirtatious glances like teens.
However, things have just altered. The smiles had faded, leaving an uncomfortable stillness between them. And for the previous few months, Lora has always been stuck with the bill folder at the end of the night.
Jack, on the other hand, appeared to be having a spending binge. Every time he came in, there was a parade of the most costly cuts of meat and bottles of wine imaginable.
And guess who always ended up paying the bill? Lora, looking pale and drawn, would quietly swipe her card.
This particular rainy night, however, took things to a whole new level of ludicrous. Jack walked in with a group of eight raucous pals, announcing like a monarch that it was his “tr3at.”
They ordered enough burgers and steaks to feed a small army, and while it was all fun for them, I felt a knot in my gut when I didn’t see Lora walk in with them.
Just as I was about to check to see if she was coming, she appeared, looking like she had just finished a marathon. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her steps stumbled slightly as she reached the group.
Jack hardly looked up as she sat down, too busy yelling orders at me to replenish their drinks.
As the night progressed, I cleaned away empty dishes, my ears pricked at their table. That’s when I overheard a part of their chat that made my blood run cold.
“I won’t pay this time,” Lora told Jack, laced with a tremor I’d never heard before. “Jack, I’m serious.”
He just chuckled. “Sure, babe. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’ll take care of everything.”
It was simple for him to say, I thought, raging silently.
But when the bill arrived, it was a substantial sum slightly north of $800, and Jack put it right into Lora’s hand.
The way her face drained of color, tears welling up in her eyes as Jack simply pushed that awful bill at her, was like a cruel joke.
Lora ran for the restroom, excused herself. I dashed after her, and just as I approached the doorway, a muffled shout erupted from within.
“So, now I earn 25% more than him and have to pay for all his buddies?! This is RIDICULOUS!” Lora was crying into the phone. “How can he demand I foot the bill all the time? This is so unfair!”
This was more than just money; it was also about control. And I wasn’t about to let him bully her like that.
Her sad phone call rang in my ears. I took a long breath to calm my anxieties and approached Lora as she returned from the washroom, blotting her eyes with a crumpled napkin.
“Lora,” I said, “are you alright? Is there anything I can do?”
Her eyes welled up again. “Jack keeps insisting I pay for everything,” she choked out. “I can’t afford to do this all the time!”
There it was: confirmation of what I had previously suspected. My heart aches for her. This wasn’t correct.
But before I could offer any more words of comfort, an idea struck me: a hazardous one, but perhaps, just maybe, it was the only way out for her.
My thoughts raced. Here I was, a waitress who barely made enough to get by in this pricey city, prepared to jeopardize my career to assist a customer.
But seeing Lora’s helpless dread in her eyes, and Jack treating her like a living ATM, I knew what I had to do.
“Listen,” I whispered, “Here’s what we can do. When I come back, pretend you’ve gotten an urgent call and leave right away. Don’t worry about the bill, I’ll handle it.”
Lora’s expression was confused for a while, but then a glimmer of hope appeared in her eyes.
“Are you sure?” she whispered back. “What about your job?”
I squeezed her palm reassuringly, sending a silent promise between us. “Don’t worry about me,” I said. “Just trust me.”
She hesitated for a beat longer, then reached for her phone and began tapping away as she approached her table.
My pulse pounded in my chest as I retreated back to the kitchen, hoping my plan would not fail catastrophically.
A few minutes seemed like an eternity as I fought the impulse to peek out of the kitchen. I took a big breath, put on my finest smile, and approached their table.
Jack, still engrossed in conversation with his buddies, didn’t even look up as I cleared my throat.
“Excuse me, sir,” I began, my voice loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. “The manager just informed me that there’s been a bit of a mix-up with your reservation.”
Jack puffed out his chest like a rooster about to crow. “What mix-up? We made a reservation for nine just fine.”
“Well, sir,” I continued, my voice dripping with fake sympathy, “unfortunately, it appears there was a double booking for your table tonight. We have another large party arriving shortly, and they specifically requested this booth.”
Jack’s face contorted with disbelief. His “friends,” sensing trouble, began shifting uncomfortably in their seats, their enthusiastic banter reducing to a quiet murmur.
“But…but we ordered already,” Jack mumbled, his attitude dipping as he looked at the mountain of barely-touched food.
“I understand, sir,” I replied, my tone stern but polite. “However, since the reservation was made under a different name, we wouldn’t be able to accommodate you at this table any longer.”
Jack’s bravado evaporated, replaced by a frantic desperation.
He looked around the restaurant desperately, hoping for a miracle. There were no empty booths large enough for his company, and the dispersed tables were not exactly conducive to the impression he was attempting to convey.
“Can’t we just move to another big table?” he pleaded
“Unfortunately, sir,” I replied apologetically, “we’re completely booked tonight. The best I can offer is to pack your food to go, or perhaps…” I paused dramatically.
“Perhaps, you and your friends could head over to the bar down the street. They have plenty of space for large groups.”
Jack’s face turned the color of a well-cooked steak. He recognized that place; it was a dump known for its greasy comfort food and cheap beer, a far cry from the elegant atmosphere he’d been attempting to impress his “friends” with.
Just then, as if on cue, Lora “remembered” her “urgent call” and got up, pretending terror.
“Oh my gosh, I completely forgot!” she exclaimed, her voice laced with manufactured worry. “I have an important client meeting. I have to leave right away!”
With a short “thank you” to me and a sharp look at Jack that spoke volumes, she grabbed her bag and hurried away, leaving Jack astonished and defeated.
His “friends,” recognizing the pattern, began creating excuses for their own “sudden emergencies.” They slink out one by one, abandoning their commander like rats fleeing a dying ship.
Jack, now alone with the remnants of his costly supper and the massive bill, understood he had fallen into a trap.
“But… but the bill!” He stammered, his voice high-pitched and agitated.
I shrugged apologetically. “Unfortunately, sir, you’re responsible for the bill for the entire party.”
Jack stammered and argued, his face changing from crimson to purple. He requested to speak with the manager, but I respectfully informed him that he was busy.
In the end, with no Lora to share the financial load and his “friends” long gone, Jack was obliged to pay for the entire meal, his big night out with the guys turning into a sour aftertaste of loneliness and a heavy cost.
The expression on his face as he reluctantly swiped his card was sheer delight.
The next day, when the lunch crowd began to arrive, the door opened and Lora entered. She swept the room until her gaze fell on me, and she dashed directly to my station.
“Melanie!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with warmth. “I just wanted to thank you again for everything you did last night. You saved me more than just money, you saved me from…” she trailed off, her voice catching slightly.
“From being bullied,” I continued for her, my voice gentle. We both understood the reality.
Lora nodded and her eyes welled up. She dug into her purse and brought out a crisp $100 cash.
“Here,” she insisted, pushing it at me. “This is for you, for your trouble.”
I paused. I hadn’t done it for the money, but the real thankfulness in Lora’s eyes made it impossible for me to refuse.
“Thank you, Lora,” I said, accepting the bill with a smile. “But honestly, seeing the look on Jack’s face was reward enough!”
We both chuckled, the shared experience creating a sudden bond between us.
“So,” I said, a mischievous glint in my eyes, “what are you going to do with all that extra money you saved last night?!”
Lora’s eyes sparkled. “Well,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially, “I was thinking of treating myself to a fancy spa day. Maybe even a massage.”
We both burst out laughing, and the tension from the previous night was completely gone.
As the day progressed, I couldn’t help but think about Lora and the many others who might be in similar situations. Maybe, I thought, my small act of defiance will encourage someone else to stand up for what is right.
Lora’s ordeal taught me that sometimes the most precious things we can provide are not on the menu. Sometimes the best service we can offer is a little compassion, a dash of courage, and a whole lot of encouragement.
So, have you ever watched someone being bullied like that? What would you have done?
