I had just started a new job, and everything was still fresh. The office, the people, the routines — it was all a blur, but one thing stood out clearly: every Friday, my colleagues went out for lunch. It was a tradition they had, and as the new guy, I was eager to fit in. I didn’t want to be that person who declined every offer or made things awkward, so I joined them.
The issue, though, was money.
Unlike my colleagues, who were all on higher salaries and lived pretty comfortably, I had a modest paycheck, student loans, and a tight budget to stick to. So, when the group suggested grabbing lunch, I knew I had to be strategic. I had to make sure I didn’t overspend while still joining in on the socializing. What I didn’t expect was that, each week, I’d be roped into paying way more than my fair share.
It all started innocently enough. The first Friday, we went to a new restaurant. I glanced at the menu and tried to be cautious. As a vegetarian, I wasn’t tempted by the $40 steaks or the extravagant platters my colleagues ordered. Instead, I went for a salad and a simple soup. My meal totaled $18, which I thought was a reasonable amount.
When the bill came, we all started reaching for our wallets, but then the inevitable happened.
“Let’s just split it evenly,” one of my colleagues, Greg, suggested. He was the one who seemed to always take charge, despite the fact he wasn’t exactly the boss. “It’ll be easier.”
At first, I thought nothing of it. I figured, maybe it was just this one time. But then, I saw the total: $210.
Doing the math in my head, I realized I was going to have to pay way more than my share. I wasn’t going to be the one to speak up, not on my first week, so I smiled and went along with it.
“Yeah, sure. Let’s just split it,” I agreed, gritting my teeth.
As I handed over my $42 share, I couldn’t help but feel the sting. Greg had ordered a $60 steak, and another colleague, Kate, had gone for the lobster platter, which was easily another $70. Meanwhile, I had ordered the cheapest thing on the menu.
Over the next few weeks, this pattern continued. Every Friday, without fail, we’d go out to eat, and every Friday, the same thing would happen: the bill would come, and I’d get stuck paying far more than I should have. It wasn’t just the food that bothered me — it was the fact that no one even thought twice about it.
One day, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore.
At the next lunch, we went to a different spot, and once again, I carefully picked something modest. My colleagues, on the other hand, went all out. Greg and Kate were ordering like they had no worries in the world. Meanwhile, I was watching my budget, adding everything up in my head.
As the bill came again, I made up my mind. I wasn’t going to be the sucker anymore.
When Greg suggested splitting the bill, I spoke up.
“Hey, I was thinking maybe we could just pay for what we ordered?” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. “I mean, I’m a vegetarian, and my meal is always way cheaper than yours.”
There was a pause, and then Kate let out a short laugh. “Oh come on, it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just lunch,” she said, waving me off. “We all make enough money to cover it.”
Greg joined in, his tone a little too dismissive. “Yeah, just relax. You’re not going to break the bank. It’s just splitting the bill.”
I could feel my frustration bubbling up inside. These people had no idea what it was like to live paycheck to paycheck. I wasn’t some tightwad, but $50 for a lunch I didn’t even eat was just too much.
But I didn’t argue. Instead, I gave them a small smile and let the conversation die down. As we waited for the server to bring the bill, I hatched a plan. A small, devious plan that would put them in their place, without them even realizing it.
The next week, I came prepared.
I had an idea. One that was simple, yet brilliant. And it involved ordering exactly what they ordered.
When we sat down at the new restaurant, I scanned the menu carefully. This time, I wasn’t holding back. I’d seen Greg and Kate eyeing the expensive cuts of meat and the seafood platters. So, when the waiter came around, I confidently ordered the steak, the lobster tail, and the fancy side dishes. I knew I wasn’t going to eat it all, but I also knew that if I was going to pay for what I ordered, then they were going to pay for what they ordered — and it was time they realized just how unfair the situation was.
The looks on their faces were priceless.
As we were finishing up the meal and Greg tried to initiate the same old “let’s split the bill” routine, I calmly spoke up. “Actually, I think it’s best if we pay for what we ordered this time. I went all in with the lobster and the steak like you two.”
Greg and Kate stared at me, and for the first time, they seemed to understand.
“Wait a minute,” Kate said, glancing at her bill. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely,” I replied, smiling to myself.
The server dropped the bill on the table. It was an absurd amount, much higher than any of our previous lunches. When we divided the bill, I made sure they paid exactly what they ordered — and I paid for my expensive meal.
At the end of the lunch, there were no more comments. No more jokes. The next Friday, Greg came to me with a different approach.
“So, about the bill,” he started, a little awkwardly. “Maybe we should start doing things your way, huh?”
I smiled.
“Great idea,” I said, “let’s stick to paying for what we ordered.”
And from that day forward, my colleagues never tried to pull the “split it equally” card again. They knew better than to mess with someone who wasn’t afraid to make a point.