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 sweetly, loud enough for the table to go quiet. “There seems to be a small error with your bill.”
He cocked a brow. “Yeah? What’s the problem?”
Still smiling, I gently placed the receipt in front of him and tapped the line that read “Automatic Gratuity: 20% added for parties of 8 or more.”
“As the host, the full amount, including gratuity, goes to you. It’s policy. And, of course, you did say it was your treat — I believe everyone here heard you?”
There was a pause. His friends looked around, some clearly uncomfortable. A few even nodded awkwardly, muttering, “Yeah, he did say that.”
Jack’s smile faltered, his jaw tightening.
“I mean—” he glanced at Lora, who now stared down at the table, her cheeks flushed red. “We usually split—”
I tilted my head. “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s not what I heard. But no worries — if you’ve changed your mind, I’m happy to void everything and reprint the bill… separately. Although”—I smiled wider—“that would mean you’ll need each of your eight guests to pay their individual share. Which is fine! I’m sure they don’t mind.”
The table burst into a mix of awkward laughter and fake coughs. Jack looked like he swallowed a lemon.
“No, it’s fine,” he muttered, reaching into his wallet with a twitching hand.
I saw Lora’s fingers twitching beneath the table — clenched tightly in her lap — and her watery eyes now locked onto me.
Before I turned to walk away, I leaned in just enough for only her to hear:
“You deserve better. And for what it’s worth… we all see it.”
That night, Lora left without Jack.
And Jack?
He left a crumpled mess of bills, no tip, and a bruised ego behind.
But the best part? The next time Lora came in, she smiled — and she was alone.
And she paid only for herself.