Social Graces

Last night, I met up with some friends to celebrate Kat's birthday. Kat is a bartender who works with Dave. She's from Tennessee so I'm predisposed to like her, but I'd probably like her even if she wasn't. The friends of hers I knew already seemed very cool, so I dressed for the occasion and made the trip down to the meatpacking district anticipating a good night.

It ended up being a good night in that I learned a lot. Otherwise, there wasn't much that was good about it.

Kat's friend had made reservations at an Italian place called Nero. The guest of honor was an hour late, but we all had a decent enough time munching on free bread and sipping very much not free cocktails. In observance of my budget, I had only one glass of wine, which I regrettably paid for up front (more on that later). When Kat finally arrived, we ordered our selections from a highly overpriced menu and chatted while we waited. I'd met up with Dave for a huge, late lunch that day, and he and I decided to share a pasta dish since neither of us was particularly hungry. Kate (not to be confused with Kat, although I get it wrong fairly consistently), on Dave's other side, has just begun her 8,937^th diet and so ordered a salad and a glass of water.

Our food came, and Dave and I quickly polished off the noodles in Prego sauce that I could have probably produced in my dorm kitchen in about a quarter of the time for about 1/100^th of the price. But I liked the group I was sitting with and tried to be cheerful, while simultaneously making mental notes not to return to Nero unless someday I felt that my bank account was troublingly large. I was glad Dave and I had elected to share a dish and that I hadn't ordered any more drinks, and skipped an after-dinner coffee as well. At least I'd had a reasonably good time for a fair price.

I didn't even see bill come, but I definitely heard one of the girls at the other end of the table, a vapid-looking brunette who had spent most of the evening busily spilling out of the top of her strapless dress, announce that we each owed $60. A flurry of surprised chatter arose, as all everyone around Dave, Kate and I commented on how surprisingly low the total was, considering. Dave and Kate and I held a hurried, whispered conference that involved much swearing. Kate's salad was $15, and for her portion of Kat's dinner/drink costs and tip she should have put in no more than $25. I owed something like $15, and Dave, figuring in several Coronas, owed something like $30. I had actually been a little concerned about a situation like this earlier in the meal as I watched the girls around me order trays of drinks, appetizers, and coffees. But instead of lightly announcing early on that I was on a budget and therefore was going to pay only for what I ordered, a I certainly should have done, I didn't say anything.

The only thing our disgruntled trio wanted to do less than pay $60 a pop for water, lettuce, and several noodles was to create a ruckus that would put Kat's moronic friends in their places and almost certainly ruin Kat's birthday outing. So we ponied up the dough, bid the group goodnight, and hurried to a dive bar where Kate and I had a pina colada each and Dave polished off a pint of beer. I hadn't known Kate well before all of this, but a sense of camaraderie seems to have sprung up between us. I rode the train home poorer, wiser, and happy that I made a good friend.