So, You Think a Restaurant Overcharged?

Would you bitch or pay anyway

Photo by Ashlyn Ciara on Unsplash

I would have preferred to have this evening erased from my life entirely. But I’ve long ago realized things like that only happen in movies and books.

In real life, as often as not, the bad guy wins!

But did he this time? I’m still trying to figure that out after 40 some years.

Reunion, of sorts

Aden and Damon talk on the phone a lot. Like many old friendships dating back to high school we seldom ever get together. Hell, it’s been how many, 40 plus years?

Philadelphia was only about an hour and a half drive from Asbury Park, New Jersey where we went to school together. Our lives split us up: universities we attended in different parts of the country, employment, starting families. We always seemed too damn busy to make the effort to reunite. So — we had long telephone conversations lamenting the fact we didn’t ever have time to see each other.

Now after all those lost opportunities: divorces, children independent and grown with their children (our grandchildren) currently raising hell in college, retirement — we finally had the time.

My two buds and I were going to take in an Eagles game in Lincoln Financial Field (aka The Link). I had made reservations in an Italian restaurant in South Philly after what we all were sure would happen, an Eagles win.

The day progressed unattractively with the Eagles falling behind in the first quarter and the team continued their sloppy play to fall behind even more as the afternoon wore on.

The three of us drowned our angst buying over priced beers at the game.

We took the subway to the restaurant after the game, perfect timing for our reservation.

Thank god we had reservations!

The restaurant was packed with unhappy Eagles fans.

We had agreed to pay our own tabs for dinner.

We all ordered spaghetti and meatballs.

Pretty creative, huh?

The spaghetti was great, salad on the side, no dessert, we asked the waiter for the bill. We’d planned to equally divide it three ways.

The server delivered the check and I opened the black folder-holder and took a look. I did the math for the three of us to split the tab as planned. Three beers $4.50 spaghetti and salad, $12.95.

“Gentlemen, it’s $17.45 each,” I announced.

“What the fuck!” Aden cried jumping up from his chair. “Waiter! Waiter! Get over here!”

“Aden calm down!” Damon said, “I’ll cover you if you don’t have the money!”

“Of course I have the money!” Aden said with an elevated voice, “ But $12.95 for spaghetti and meatballs?”

“Fuck dat!” he fumed.

People in the room gradually stopped their own conversations and turned their attention to our table.

The young waiter came over and politely tried to calm down the hammered Aden but really didn’t know what to do.

Aden told ’em what he should do.

“Get me the manager!” he shouted.

The waiter disappeared to presumably bring the manager over to solve this untenable situation.

By now, all other conversation had stopped and everyone in the restaurant was curious as to what turn this incident was going to take.

A slightly built man came over to our table. He smiled and introduced himself as the manager, “I hear you’re having trouble with the cost of the spaghetti, meatballs and salad. Was it at all tasty”?

“Yeah, it was okay,” Aden admitted.

“What do you think it’s worth? Just pay that.” the manager said diplomatically and walked away.

Everybody in the restaurant went back to tending to their own business.

Aden covered his 3rd of the bill.

Six years later

I’ve heard the manager is now the owner of the place. I’m going to have to go back.

I wonder if the spaghetti, meatballs and salad is still $12.95?