I Asked the Waiter to Split the Check

Poor guy was maybe twenty-two, with a name tag that said NICK and that look people in service jobs get when they know they’re three seconds away from being blamed for somebody else’s personality.

“Of course,” he said. “I can do that.”

Dad slapped his palm lightly on the table.

“For God’s sake, Claire. Sit down.”

“No.”

That surprised even me.

I wasn’t a continue reading …