Slap! Wow. What. A. Night.

You guys didn't hold back, huh? Good for you. I mean, I am long. I'm practically slithering off the end of this table! Haha. Not really.

But seriously, nice. I promise I won't look at that number down th–

Holy shit! Dang. I'm astronomical. What is it with these “small plates” places nowadays?

Anyways. I know what happens next. One of you picks me up, waves away the protestations of the others, pays me, carefully folds me, then places me into your back pocket. Then I guess you'll either frame me or paste me into a scrapbook or something. Either way, I'm just excited to begin the next phase of my journey.

So, go ahead. Pay up. Let's get this show on the road.

No rush, obviously. Enjoy your macchiatos.

Classy move by the way—the macchiatos. Real classy.


Oh, hey, how were the appetizers? I've never heard of anyone souffléing a beetroot. Is that a word? Souffléing? Sounds like a word.

But yeah, how was it?

Guys? Feel like I've been sitting down here for a while.


Starting to feel like I'm being ignored, kinda. Haha. Can't decide who's gonna pay me? No problem. Little trick I like to recommend: basically, whoever's wearing the most expensive shoes has to pay the bill! Works every time. Or if you're all wearing the same shoes, maybe one of you could settle up and everyone else could just Venmo you… Or owe you a favor? That sort of thing works pretty well mostly.

What are you guys all negotiating for? Guys?

Please don't split me. I don't know if you know this, but splitting the check isn't just annoying for your server, it's also agonizingly painful for us. I mean, how would you like to be split thirty-seven ways?

I'm not loving the way you're all looking at your calculators. Look, this will all be much easier if you just make it short and sweet. Just pay me and figure it out later. How about the lady in the silk blouse? She looks loaded! Or how about the guy who ordered the bouillabaisse for two??

Don't fuckin' split me, man.

How 'bout you do a runner? It could be like one of those things you reminisce about fifty years from now—that time you did a runner from that restaurant! That would be so cool. The first flush of youth etc. And just between us, the service wasn't great, was it? Sure, it's a cute little independent place where the waiting staff survive off tips—but they really kept you waiting for those risotto balls.

Okay, oh god, you're all taking out your credit cards. This is happening. Fine. Fuck it. Whatever. Split me into a million pieces, I don't care. Just make it fast.

I take that back. I do care. How about two of you split me, straight down the middle? I can live with that. Sure, it won't be pleasant, but it's not the medieval torture technique that you demented fucks are planning for me.

Actually, I think… yeah, no, I remember seeing a sign. This place is cash only. Sorry, y'all. Annoying. There's an ATM across the road.

Oh Jesus Christ, here we go—the waitress is coming over. Don't let these sick freaks take advantage of you, lady! You've got a busy front-of-house to run! You don't have time to process thirty-seven separate payments! JUST SAY NO!

Alright, alright, just hang on just–

Wait wait WAIT WAIT!!! YAAOOOW!!!

AARGH!! Oh God, where am I? What's going in? Why is it so dark? What's…? Huh? Wait a second - am I… am I inside someone's pocket right now? That was it? Hold on, so splitting me doesn't literally mean…? Okay, I feel dumb. Haha! I really thought you were about to splice me into thirty-seven. Phew-ee!

You guys nearly gave me a heart attack.

Don't mind it in here though.


Please don't put me in a washing machine.