What if you can’t pay the restaurant bill?

First there’s smiles. Lots of smiles. I smiled as the card machine was handed back. The waiter smiled as he ripped off the “not authorised” slip, delivered with an apology.
Then we smile at each other as we rummage in pockets to see just how much cash there is and, please, please, let there be another bank card somewhere about our persons.
But no, nothing. A series of “cash flow” issues had left me financially embarassed.
The only thing for it is for one of us (and I don’t think it’s going to be me) to walk the mile and a half home to (hopefully) get another source of funds.
So off he went leaving me sat alone in a crowded restaurant. Unable to order further food or drink I amused myself with a riveting read of a new imported fruit-based drink (for the ladies) and a sepaprate item about a manly beer now being stocked.
Still no sign of Himself.
By now, a few pitying glances had been thrown in my direction from a large table of women (or that could read, ‘a table of large women’)who presumably thought I’d just been dumped.
The waiter and waitress kept their distance. Not wanting to engage but keeping a watchful eye. I wondered what would happen if I got up and left? Would a meat cleaver wielding cook be dispatched to take me back to the kitchen? I remained rooted to the spot.
Still no sign of Himself.
The kitchen looked busy and I started to wonder what sort of work I could do in there to pay my debts if he never reappeared with any cash. I was sure they’d have a dishwasher so the washing up was probably out. Does anyone ever really do that? How much is an hour’s washing up worth these days?
Still no sign of Himself.
Another two tables have finished their meals and paid. Damn, the machine DOES work. It’s now just me and the table full of women who have ordered yet another tray of drinks and are getting louder and braver in their stares. I’m wishing I could slide under the table.
Through the door he comes.
At last. With cash in hand he returns. The three mile run straight after a big meal hasn’t gone down too well but it’s over.
And then there’s smiles. Lots of smiles.


3 thoughts on “What if you can’t pay the restaurant bill?

  1. Sarah,
    Little tip.
    I aways find projectile vomiting a good way out of these tricky social situations.
    There they are with mop and bucket while you march (or stagger) out the door , threatening them with a visit by the Environmental Health Inspector. Works like a charm.


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