I’m a waitress, and Jack and Lora were regulars. Lately, Jack stopped paying, always leaving sweet Lora to cover the bill. One night, he showed up with eight friends, loudly announcing it was HIS TREAT. Lora came later, looking pale. While clearing plates, I heard her whisper, “I’m not paying this time.” Jack just grinned, “Sure, babe.” But when I brought the bill, he slid his $800+ bill to her again. You should’ve seen her teary face. I overheard her whispering into the phone, “So now I’m making 25% more and I’m paying for his buddies?!” I COULDN’T just stand by, so a few minutes later, I walked up to Jack with a smile:
“Excuse me, sir,” I said with a calm but firm voice, “it looks like there’s been a mistake. The bill is under your name tonight.”
Jack blinked, confused. “What are you talking about? I didn’t give you my card.”
I smiled politely. “Actually, when you walked in, you told all your friends this was your treat. For legal purposes, we attach the bill to the host’s name when they declare responsibility for the party.”
Lora looked up, stunned. Jack’s cocky grin faded fast.
“Well, I didn’t mean I was literally paying—”
“Sir,” I interrupted gently, “our manager has already processed the order under your guest profile. I’m happy to bring him over if you’d like to dispute it.”
There was a heavy silence. Jack looked around at his friends, some suddenly avoiding eye contact, others whispering.
Then, the real twist.
Lora slowly stood up, her voice trembling but steady. “Actually, I’d like to split the bill,” she said. “Between me and Jack… for everything he personally ordered.” She pulled out her phone and tapped. “I’ve just transferred my half of my meal. And I’ll be taking an Uber home.”
Jack started to protest, but Lora continued, “Also, I quit. I’ve been paying for your nonsense for six months. Go find a new wallet.”
She turned and walked out, head high.
I looked at Jack.
“Would you like to leave a tip… sir?”
He paid—reluctantly—and stormed out alone.
A week later, Lora came in again, smiling brighter than ever. She dined alone, ordered dessert, and tipped generously.
“No Jack?” I asked casually.
She winked. “No baggage.”