My Friends Laughed Because I Didn’t Order Food. Until The Bill Came And They Demanded That I…
“Wow, that would be unfair if you already organized everything.”
Jessica tried to defend herself.
“But when you participate in a group, there’s an implicit agreement.”
“Implicit agreement?” I repeated.
“Like if I organize a party and pay for decoration, I’m obligated to pay for others’ food too? What kind of agreement is that?”
The other colleagues seemed increasingly on my side. Jessica realized she was losing and walked away irritated.
But that was just the beginning. Throughout that week, Sarah, Jessica, and Amanda intensified the campaign against me.
They spread increasingly distorted versions of the story. According to them, I was a freeloader, irresponsible, and someone who accepted responsibilities and then ran from them.
“Emma has always been weird about money,” I heard Amanda commenting in the breakroom.
“She accepts invitations but then makes a fuss when it’s time to pay.”
“It’s a behavioral pattern,” agreed Sarah.
“We tried to include her out of pity, but it got to a point where it wasn’t possible anymore.”
Out of pity—as if they were charitable including me in their groups. Some people in the office started treating me coldly.
Others avoided talking about money when I was around. The environment became heavy.
But I wasn’t alone. Marcus, Brenda, Anna, and John—my new group of friends—were indignant when they learned about the new version of the story.
“They’re spreading that you organized a party and then refused to pay?” asked Marcus, incredulous.
“When you had already paid for the organization?”
“It’s impressively dishonest,” said Brenda.
“Distorting facts like that.”
Anna shook her head.
“They really think they can rewrite reality.”
It was John who suggested.
“You know what you should do? Show the receipts for decoration and cake. Then everyone sees how much you spent.”
It was a good idea. I had kept all the receipts.
On Thursday, when I heard Sarah telling a particularly distorted version of the story in the breakroom—where I was a freeloader who organized a cheap party and then refused to pay the bill—I decided to act.
“Sarah,” I said, approaching with a folder in hand.
“Are you talking about your birthday party?”
She tensed.
“I was explaining to Carla how some people have no responsibility.”
“Good thing you brought that up,” I said, opening the folder.
“I brought the receipts to show everyone how much it costs to organize.”
I spread the receipts on the breakroom table. Rented decoration: $85. Personalized cake: $120. Flowers and candles: $35. Total: $240.
“Wow,” said Carla, looking at the receipts.
“You spent all that?”
“Of course,” I replied.
“It was Sarah’s birthday. I wanted it to be special.”
Sarah was visibly uncomfortable.
“Emma, that’s not the point.”
“How is it not?” I asked innocently.
“You were explaining about responsibility. I thought it was important to show that I took my responsibility, organized, and paid for all this. And then I still paid my own bill at the restaurant.”
Carla calculated quickly.
“So you spent $240 on the party and still paid for your food?”
“Exactly. $20 for salad and water.”
“Total of $260,” concluded Carla.
“And even so, they wanted you to pay another $125?”
Sarah tried to explain herself.
“It’s that when you participate in a group—”
“But she had already participated,” Carla cut in.
“With $260. More than double what any other person spent.”
The math was simple and irrefutable. Sarah left the breakroom, unable to defend herself.
The story of the receipts spread quickly through the office. People began to understand that I wasn’t the freeloader in the story.
It was the opposite.
“Wow, Emma spent more than $250 and they still wanted her to pay more?” I heard someone commenting.
“That’s a lot of nerve,” another person replied.
Their narrative began to crumble, but they didn’t give up. On Friday, Jessica tried a different approach.
She came to talk to me at the end of work.
“Emma, I think there was a misunderstanding about this whole situation.”
“What misunderstanding?” I asked.
“The issue isn’t money,” she said.
“It’s about loyalty to the group—about not abandoning friends in a difficult situation.”
“Difficult situation?”
“When you left the restaurant, we were left in an embarrassing situation. We had to explain to the waiter and reorganize the bill.”
“Jessica,” I said calmly.
“I organized the entire party, spent $240 out of my pocket, and still paid my own bill. How is that abandonment?”
“But you left before the end,” she insisted.
“That’s not done. It was incredible.”
She genuinely believed I had an obligation to stay and pay for others’ food.
“What if I had stayed and refused to pay the $125?” I asked.
“That would be different. At least you would have stayed to talk.”
“To have you pressure me until I gave in?”
Jessica hesitated.
“To resolve things civilly.”
“Civilly, like you’re doing now spreading lies about me?”
“They’re not lies,” she defended herself.
“It’s our perspective of the facts.”
“Perspective? That’s how they justified the distortions. Jessica, can I ask you something? Do you really think it was fair for me to pay $125 after already spending $240?”
She thought for a moment.
“When you accept to participate in an event, you accept the responsibilities that come with it. Even spending more than any other person, it’s a matter of principle,” she said, as if that explained everything.
Principle. For them, the principle was that I should pay for others, regardless of how much I had already contributed.
“I understand,” I said.
“Thank you for clarifying.”
Jessica seemed hopeful.
“So can we resolve this?”
“Resolve what?”
“Go back to being friends? Forget all this confusion?”
“There’s nothing to resolve, Jessica. You made clear you think it’s normal to exploit me financially. I made clear I don’t accept that anymore.”
“It’s not exploitation,” she protested.
“It’s how groups of friends work.”
“No,” I replied.
“It’s how you think they should work.”
She sighed, frustrated.
“You’re being very difficult.”
I’m being fair to myself. Jessica walked away, clearly irritated.
