Kitchen Duty

I suppose it was my fault, really. The fact that I met him at a tanning salon didn’t necessarily bode well for the guy. But he was cute enough and he seemed to understand my humor which I could appreciate…so when he asked for my number I went against all of my inner-gut-instincts and handed him over the coveted digits.


The text messages he sent were sweet, the phone conversations we had flowed, and his persistence loomed. I ended up having an opening in my ridiculously crazy schedule, so when he asked if I was available for dinner I accepted his invitation and we settled on a time and a restaurant. Upon arrival he informed me that he wasn’t really hungry, so rather then a meal he was going to go with something “light.” When our waiter stopped by to take our order he decided on two appetizers, a side of fries and a dessert, while I opted for the salmon. As I sat across the booth from him I found myself having a fairly enjoyable time. We were sharing stories, giggling about childhood memories, and all-in-all, thoroughly enjoying each other’s company.

As the evening wore on our waiter dropped by our table to see if there was anything else we needed, at which point my date informed him that everything had been great and that there was nothing else we would be in need of, so he dropped off our bill.

Home Boy didn’t flinch, so I assumed he wasn’t quite ready to leave. Thirty minutes passed…nothin’. An hour…nada. I excused myself to go to the restroom where I spent 15 minutes texting, emailing and Facebooking to give him time to get his funds together, but upon my return…zilch. By this time the restaurant was closing so our waiter once again walked back over to our table to double check if there was indeed anything else that we required. Again, my date didn’t move a muscle. Voluntary or involuntary. He sat there like Christopher Reeve, post horse back riding accident.


I knew at this point that if I didn’t pull out my wallet to pay for the meal, due to the fact that I was the minority, my brown a$& would be hauled back to the kitchen where I would be forced to do dishes until my penance was served, while his white a$& would walk outta there scott free, like he owned the joint. I hesitantly reached for my wallet, pulled out my debit card and handed it to the waiter. Whilst Mr. No Pay sat there with the most blasé look on his face, happy as a lark, as though he didn't have a care in the world...and in reality he didn't...because his stomach and his checking account both remained full.

If your date asks you out, and then refuses to pay…UNDATABLE!