Finally, he turns back to me. “So what do you do, Corrie?” are the first words out of his mouth. I hate this question. It’s so superficial. He’s assessing me, making a mental list of my pros and cons.
“Well, I used to work as a paralegal, but presently I’m not working, and am looking to go to college in the fall to study publishing.” It’s a good answer. It beats,I do yoga, shop, watch Netflix and walk my dogs all day. I’m a kept woman.
“What do you do?” I ask, turning the tables on him.
“Actually, I’m an orthodontist,” he tells me proudly. “You’ve had some work done, I can tell. You have a beautiful smile.”
I can practically see the start of his list in my head.
Pro: Beautiful Smile. Con: Small tits.
“So how do you know Eli?” I ask, doing my best to keep the conversation going.
“I bought a piece from him,” he tells me. “He’s very talented. I’m decorating my condo right now and I only want the best. I just spent five thousand on my sectional but it’s worth every penny.”
“Nice,” I deadpan. It’s so uncouth to brag about one’s money. Jacob has money but he never gloats about it. I stare down at my shoes, wishing I were anywhere but here. I need a drink.
I order the avocado shrimp salad, and he orders a steak, medium rare. We chat mostly about him, about his practice and his new condo. He doesn't ask any questions about me, but I don’t care because I’ve already written him off. I’m pretty sure he’ll offer to pay for the meal. How could he not, after bragging all night about his money.
He annoys me. I stare at my empty glass of sangria. It’s full of ice. It went down quickly because there was probably only about two ounces of it. What a rip-off. I’m probably not paying for it, but it still pisses me off. They charge twelve dollars for that shit.
“Did you want me to order you another sangria?” Richard asks.
I do need one. “Uh… I’m not a drunk, I swear. There was barely any sangria in there.”
He stares at the glass. “I can see that. That’s a lot of ice.”
He waves the server over, and orders me another one.
“Hopefully, the next one will be better,” I say with a smile.
We’re polishing off our meals when the server arrives with another sangria. It’s just like the other one — delicious but full of ice. After three sips, I’m done. I want another one, and I’m peeved.
“This is bullshit,” I scoff. The words shock not only Richard, but myself as well. “They’re basically charging twelve dollars for ice!”
I want him to agree with me. I want him to stand up and scream,What a bunch of thieves! They’re robbing us blind!But all he says is, “It’s just the way it is. All these restaurants are the same. That’s how they make their money.”
I’m not going to accept this. I’m making a stand. This is wrong, and someone needs to speak up.
As soon as I see our server, I wave her over. I spot the mortification wash over Richard’s face — he’s turning crimson.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I start off very politely. “But look at this drink. It’s all ice.”
The server stares at my glass with a blank expression, not sure how to respond.
“It’s a rip-off,” I go on. “Don’t you think?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure the bartender pours the sangria first, then adds the ice, so…”
“So what?!” I snap.
“Uh… I can talk to the manager,” she says kindly. “See what he says.”
“Yeah, you go do that,” I scoff.
“Corrie…” Richard says. “Don’t make a scene.”
“I’m not making a scene,” I snap. “I’m just getting what’s coming to us. You like getting ripped off, do you?” I’m speaking a little too loudly, and heads are turned toward us.
