When Sydney started a new job, she just wanted to join her colleagues and enjoy fitting into a team. As per their tradition, the team goes out for a weekly Friday lunch, which ends with an even split of the bill. But there’s one problem: Sydney is paid less and cannot afford these lavish lunches. So, she teaches her teammates a lesson.
When I started my new job, I was eager to fit in with my colleagues. I mean, I was in a new environment, and I needed to get along with the people I was going to work with daily.
They already had their own traditions, and when they invited me to join, of course, I couldn’t say no. One of their traditions was going out for lunch every Friday, and I didn’t want to seem like the odd one out.
Except, there was a problem.
My colleagues were in a whole different tax bracket. They were well-established in the company, earning far more than I was, while I was at the beginning of my career, only making ends meet by the skin of my teeth. My entry-level salary had to sustain me while paying off loans, bills, and rent.
Things that my colleagues didn’t have to worry about.
Yet every Friday, like clockwork, we went to these over-the-top restaurants where the bills seemed to climb higher and higher each week.
And without fail, they insisted on splitting the bill evenly. I tried not to let it bother me at first. I mean, let’s face it, it was just lunch, right? But as the weeks went by, my pockets felt a lot lighter than they should have.
Here’s the thing: I’m a vegetarian. And I’ve always ordered simple food that is easy to eat and delicious. But my meals are generally salads or small entrées. Meanwhile, two of my colleagues, Josh and Lisa, ordered massive meat platters every single time.
Ribs, steaks, whatever was the most expensive meal on the menu. Their orders easily topped $60, sometimes even more. And yet, every week, we split the bill evenly. My $15 salad turned into a $35 meal, all thanks to them.
Now, they could afford these meals, so I understood why they wanted to indulge in them. The first few times, I didn’t say anything. I figured it was just part of the team culture, and I didn’t want to cause any friction as a newbie.
But after a few months, it became unbearable. I was losing almost half of my weekly grocery budget on these lunches, and they didn’t seem to notice. They’d laugh, talk about their weekend plans, and casually drop their credit cards on the table when the bill arrived, not even glancing at the total.
“Sydney,” my mother said sternly when she came over to visit me with large bags full of groceries. “You’ve got to stand your ground. Would you rather use all your money on one meal and starve for the rest of the month?”
“No, Mom,” I said, digging into the donuts that she had brought over for tea. “But I don’t want to complicate anything because I’m so new.”
“How would you be complicating anything, Syd?” she asked. “There are certain things that you cannot do because you’re restricted by a budget. They were in your shoes once.”
I nodded, not wanting to get my mother into a mood and have her tell me off for being quiet about the situation.
One Friday, after yet another lunch where I ended up paying for meals I didn’t eat, I finally gathered up some courage to speak out.
“Hey, guys, I was thinking,” I began, trying to sound casual as we waited for the bill. “Maybe we could start doing separate bills? I’m not really eating as much as you all, and it might make things easier.”
Josh chuckled, shaking his head.
“Separate bills? Come on, Sydney, don’t be ridiculous. It’s easier this way.”
Lisa gave me a smirk as she finished the last of her dessert.
“Yeah, it’s not like we’re breaking the bank here. We’re all adults, right? Just split it like we always do, Josh.”
I bit my tongue. I wanted to tell them that the situation was actually breaking the bank for me. Instead, I forced a smile and nodded.
“Yeah, sure. No big deal,” I said.
But inside, I was fuming. It wasn’t just the money. It was the way they dismissed me as if my concerns didn’t matter at all. Like it was easy to just shove my opinion under the rug. As if I should be grateful just to sit at the table with them.
Arguing would not get me anywhere, so I decided to change tactics. If they wanted to play this game, I’d play along, too, just on my terms.
The next week, when we went out for lunch, I didn’t just order my usual warm veggie and couscous salad. No. I ordered two appetizers. One for me, and one for “the table.” They dug into the mozzarella sticks without hesitation, just like they always did.
The week after that, I upped my game. I ordered two appetizers and two main courses.
More mozzarella sticks and crumbed mushrooms. And lasagna and a four-cheese pizza. When the food came, I asked the waiter to pack the pizza in a to-go box before anyone dug in. No one seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn’t say anything.
By the third week, things started to shift. We got to the restaurant and sat down. Again, I ordered two appetizers, two mains, and a dessert this time. There were expensive vegan cheesecakes on the menu, and I was determined to push the limits.
“You usually don’t order this much food, Syd,” Josh said, his eyes furrowed.
“Yeah, well, I get hungrier all the time now. It must be the job just making me want to eat all the time.”
When the food arrived, I asked the waiter to box up one main and one appetizer as soon as it arrived. This time, Lisa raised an eyebrow as she watched the waiter hand me a neatly packed to-go box.
“Wait, are you actually taking leftovers home now?” she asked, clearly irritated.
Josh shot me a cold look but said nothing when the waiter brought us our bill. I could feel the tension at the table as everyone glanced at the total. My share of the meal was now well over $40, and with the split, everyone’s portion had jumped to nearly $30.
When they realized what was happening, I almost laughed.
Josh slammed his card down on the table, his voice tight.
“Seriously, Sydney? You’ve been ordering all these meals and you’re taking it home? And we’re supposed to pay? We’re not even eating it! What’s your problem?”
“I’m just doing what we all agreed on. We split the bill equally, right? So, I figured that it was time for me to get my fair share now.”
Lisa crossed her arms, her mouth set in a thin line.
“This isn’t a meal-prep service, Sydney. It’s supposed to be a team lunch.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been paying for food I didn’t eat for weeks. Now I’m just doing what you guys have been doing.”
They couldn’t argue with that. Not without admitting that they had been using me to subsidize their expensive meals all along. They paid the bill, each one cringing or grimacing as they tapped their cards.
By the fourth week, I knew the game was up. As we sat down at our usual spot, Josh cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Uh, so, maybe we should… I don’t know, do separate bills from now on?”
Lisa nodded.
“Yeah, that might make things easier. You know, to keep veg and non-veg meals separate.”
I didn’t even try to hide my grin.
“That sounds like a fair idea,” I said.
That day, I ordered just one appetizer and one main dish. Simple, just like before. When the food arrived, I made a point to offer it around the table, just like they had always done with their oversized meat platters.
“Anyone want a bite of my halloumi sticks?” I asked.
Josh and Lisa shook their heads, but I could see their frustration. They wouldn’t touch my food in the future, because it would mean paying for it, too.
After that, everything changed. The group quickly abandoned the idea of splitting the bill evenly. It turns out, they’d been overspending for weeks without realizing it.
And me?
I finally got to eat my meal in peace, paying for only whatever I consumed, and walking away with my budget intact. Soon, I’m going to ask for a raise, and maybe then, I won’t have to worry so much.
For now, I’ll just stick to my salads and green tea.
What would you have done?
Source: amomama
