Bill bafflement can ruin a good meal

It’s not that I don’t like going out to dinner with friends. It’s just that I can no longer take the ritual of sheer frustration known as dividing up the tab.

Here’s a re-enactment of a recent bill-splitting session at Luna, only slightly exaggerated:

Steamed-clam appetizer: (Staring at foot-long bill) Let’s just divide it up six ways.

Rib-eye steak with morel sauce: No, that wouldn’t be fair. My dinner cost $30 and yours only cost $11.

Pizza: Yeah, but how else are we going to do it?

Rib-eye steak: Here, hand me the bill. I’ll just add up all of ours and you guys just add up all of yours. Then you tell the waiter to take that much off of your credit cards and that much off of mine and that should equal the total.

Pizza: Yeah, but we don’t have a calculator.

Rib-eye steak: We don’t need a calculator.

Wild Northwest salmon: Yes we do. I don’t do math. I’m not going to do any math.

Rib-eye steak: OK, no problem. I’ll do it. Let’s see, I had the rib-eye, the salad –

Clam appetizer: Wait. Remember, we split a salad.

Rib-eye: So I’ll just pay for half the salad –

Clams: No, I’ll pay for the whole salad. You pay for the dessert. We split the dessert.

Salmon: We all split the dessert.

Pizza: No we didn’t. I didn’t want dessert.

Salmon: I saw you sneaking a few bites of dessert.

Pizza: (indignant) I did not! I did not have one bite of dessert.

Rib-eye: If you didn’t have any dessert, you don’t have to pay for it. It’s OK. I can figure this all out (furrows brow and stares at bill for a long spell).

Pizza: Look, let’s just split it six ways.

Rib-eye: No. I have this under control. It’s about $24.75 for you, $35.60 for the two of you, $78.95 for the two of us, and $53 for you.

Clams: OK. Does that add up right?

Pizza: (Calculating in head) No. It’s at least $25 short.

Rib-eye: How can that be?

Pizza: The wine. We forgot about the wine.

Rib-eye: OK, we’ll just divide the wine six ways and add that on.

Pizza: But we had wine by the glass. You have to add that on to ours, too.

Rib-eye: OK, I’ll add that on to yours, and then divide the bottle six ways.

Salmon: No, they shouldn’t have to pay for the bottle because they were drinking their own wine by the glass.

Rib-eye (rubbing a spot just above his brows and staring at bill): OK. OK. I think I can do this –

Clams: Look, let’s just ask the waiter to separate it all out and give us separate checks,

Salmon: No, we can’t do that. When we were ordering he asked us if we wanted separate checks and we said, “No, just put it all on one.” We can’t change our minds now.

Rib-eye: Yeah. You’re right. How about this? We’ll divide it up six ways, but those of us who had the more expensive items will take care of the tip.

Pizza: (Noticing that the restaurant has emptied out and the waiters are starting to close up) Sure. That sounds right. That’s perfect. Let’s do that.

Clams: No. Look. I’ll write a check for $40. You write a check for $40. And then you other guys split the rest.

Rib-eye: (Relieved to find a solution, any solution) Yes. That will work. I’ll take care of it. (He gathers up the checks and credit cards and heads to the cashier’s station. He brings back the credit card slips).

Pizza: What about the tip? Does this include the tip?

Rib-eye: Yes. I mean, no. I mean … Aw, hell, I have no idea. Let’s just skip out.

Well, we eventually got the bill paid, but I still have no idea whether I paid my fair share.

So I’m telling you this story today partly to let you know that you are not the only one who suffers from bill-bafflement.

Yet mostly, I am writing this as a fable, with a clear and precise moral: When the waiter utters the words, “Separate checks?” at the beginning of the meal, you must, for everyone’s sanity, just say yes.