The following story takes place during the dark times, before mobile payments like Venmo:
“Once we do this, there’s no going back,” John said behind gritted teeth. He looked around the table at his three compatriots.
Their sense of dread had grown steadily during the 45 minute meal, and now, as the small leather folder slapped on the table, they knew it was time. The big moment.
It should have been an easy job, just like any other boys-night dinner, but this time was different. None of them had cash, so now they had to attempt the impossible. They were going to have to split the bill.
They weren’t new to the eating game. They knew they were walking into one of the most dangerous dinner faux pas imaginable.
Using one debit card wasn’t an option since none of them would see each other again for months to repay. Besides, there was no way any of their wives would approve of such a foolish, heroic act.
John was a lawyer. He tried his best to quell their fears. “Don’t worry, guys. We’re not doing anything illegal here, but I can’t promise the company policy will allow this, or that we won’t piss off the waitress.” He meant well, but it provided them no comfort.
“God Dammit, John! This isn’t about legality, and you know it. This is about making it out of here with a damned split bill!” shouted Angel, slamming his fist on the table. Angel was a local high school teacher and would have been the perfect asset if the waitress had been a student. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. He felt useless so he was acting out. Despite his hot head, one thing was certain: He was going to stick by his friends no matter what happened. If they went down, he’d go down, too.
“Don’t worry. We got this. It might get ugly, but we got this,” said Keith in a measured tone. Keith was a mathematician, and boy, were they glad he was there. If they pulled out a calculator it would be a dead giveaway that they were going to split the bill, alerting the wait staff and possibly encouraging a counter move. They handed Keith the folder. He gingerly opened it, his lips mumbling the math to himself.
“I don’t think I can do this,” croaked Derrick, the consultant. They all knew Derrick was close to cracking based on how many times he’d suggested getting cash out of the ATM, and by how many beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead. Now they caught Derrick eyeing the ATM machine like a glass of water after a ten mile run.
Angel leaned into him. “Don’t even think about it, buddy. You know that’s not an option.”
The ATM charged a $7.50 service fee. John told them that the high fee was perfectly legal, but what they were about to do was beyond law. They were about to test their moral fiber and intestinal fortitude more than they’d ever been tested before.
The three other men looked at each other for reassurance but found none. Derrick had become loose cannon. Ever since a waitress at T.G.I. Fridays had given them a dirty look after they split a bill, he hadn’t been the same. He had become increasingly unreliable in these crucial moments, often choosing lesser quality, order-before-you-pay restaurants, just to avoid having to split the bill. They all knew he was bound to crack under pressure someday. They just didn’t know it would be today.
“Let’s just all pull out cash. We might need it later anyway,” Derrick said, his chest heaving.
Keith interrupted his math, “That would make the meal $30 more after the fees! Someone pull him together!”
“It’s no big deal,” Derrick stammered. “I’ll pay for the whole thing. We won’t need to cause any trouble.” He looked like a rabid dog.
Angel flung his napkin at the table in disgust.
Keith was not quite done with the mental math. He kept his eyes on the receipt as he said, “We’re not going to let you take the fall like that, buddy. Your wife wouldn’t stand for it and we all know it.”
John clutched Derrick’s arm. “We’re in too deep. It’s time.” In unison, he and Angel pulled out their debit cards and put them in the leather binder. Derrick failed to follow.
Keith’s eyes darted around the restaurant, “What are you doing, Derrick?” he said in hushed panic.
“We’re never going to pull it off,” he whispered, frantic, “It’s going to end up just like TGI’s.”
“Jesus. He’s lost it,” said Angel, regretting they hadn’t eaten somewhere in his school district.
John spoke in a hushed forceful tone, “T.G.I. Friday’s was five years ago. This’ll be different.
Keith checked over his shoulder, “It’s going to be real simple. $32.16 per person, then we’ll each tip our own disclosed amount. We’ve already done the math. They’ll appreciate that.” Keith wasn’t as sure as he sounded.
From the back of the restaurant, their waitress, headed straight towards them. They all glistened with sweat, the tension rolling off them in palpable waves.
Angel nudged Derrick. “Come on, Derrick. This only works if we’re all in.”
Derrick looked back at the approaching waitress. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her hair was frazzled. It had obviously been a hard shift.
“Give us your card, Derrick,” they demanded. He froze, ghostly white. Slowly, he turned to look at each of them. They gave him what they thought were encouraging looks, but his eyes were luminous and full of sadness.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
He broke away and sprinted to the ATM. Angel lunged for his leg, but there was nothing he could do to stop him. There was too much sweat to get a good grip, and he was too far gone.
Derrick slipped from Angel’s grip and sprinted towards the ATM. Angel got back in his chair and smashed his fist into a plate. Keith pulled the cards from the leather binder and slid them to their respective owners. A single, gigantic tear quivered in John’s eye, threatening to pour out. He already knew it was over.
“Dusty in here,” he lied.
The men sat there together in silence and absorbed their defeat. The waitress came by the table and Keith’s voice rasped out, “One more moment, please.” Words he never thought he’d have to say.
They watched as Derrick retrieved his cash with trembling hands, getting charged the extra $7.50. They slowly pushed themselves up from the table, their arms hanging limply at their sides. Avoiding eye contact, they joined their friend at the ATM, knowing they had failed.