The Battle of LeChèque

A few days ago I went to Macaroni Grill with a most venerable man, the BM Joe (best man, that is). We had a fine time eating and chatting and whatnot and then our server, named Justin, came to ask us about our checks. I of course told him we would like separate checks, as is the usual custom. Then however, Joe leapt in his seat and said "Forsooth, no! I shall only accept it, which having been summed together, is contained solely in a single bill. Neither two nor three shall do, saving they are all given to me; nay, neither four nor five shall be the counting. Only one, prohibiting procession thereafter, and it shall be produced to me, and myself singly." After such graceful verbage, I could hardly refuse his generous offer; of course, I put up a very minor skirmish, but it was obvious there would be no victory on my part. However, on the occasion of our next dinner, I will be better prepared for battle.

So we played out yet another instance of the ongoing, glorious struggle for control over one's restaurant bill. For years I have been an onlooker: my father is constantly laying siege to my grandparents' established control of the check, and although he does win out from time to time, he seldom gains the upper hand for long. It has all the makings of a real war, complete with flanking tactics, sneak attacks, and full frontal assaults. There's the classic, approach-the-waiter-ahead-of-time ploy, which can be successful if properly executed. Then you can always leave cash in some inconspicuous location that the host will only find after you have left the state. Or you can blatantly shove money into the purse, pocket, or hands of whoever you battle and refuse to take it back, simply leaving it on the couch if it is subsequently thrust back at you.

There are all sorts of understood rules also. Once the money has touched another person, it becomes their possession, and we all know that if the payback-er can manage to get the money onto the living room floor and sneak out the door, the resident will pick it up at some point and use it. However, there are special ops moves that can prevent the efficacy of such tactics. My father-in-law, for instance, with his military background, is an expert in covert attacks. More than once my wife and I have found money tucked away in some place we only check a few times a month, like the small storage space underneath the armrest in the car, or perhaps the drawer containing my toothbrush. Mighty clever, if I do say so myself. Or sometimes it works best to place money in such an obvious spot that the person is unlikely to realize it for a bit, even though frequently seeing it. For example, I have known my father to leave money on the mantle over my grandmother's fireplace as we head out the door.

To top it off, home-field advantage is definitely a factor. My grandparents nearly always succeed in paying when we are visiting them, but my parents are much more likely to win the check when their parents visit here in Georgia. And just as in 18th century warfare, battlefield etiquette plays a powerful role. There is a point where one must give up, specifically after three no-you-mustn't-s, two sighs of dismay, a stern warning that you will be paying next time, and of course, profuse gratitude, though Mesdames Post and Vanderbilt are shockingly silent about the precise number of thank yous required.

In a day when duels are frowned upon and we no longer have the good sense to take turns exchanging salvos with the enemy in war, the Battle of LeChèque, as I call it, is one of few remaining vestiges of decorous struggle. And continue it must! It is a great tradition, full of vague truisms and beautiful formalism, wrapped up with the human need to display one's independence and ability to provide. One could not ask for a more telling image of the relationship between generosity and self-sufficiency. And best of all, everyone seems to end out on top: either your meal is graciously paid for, or you have been given the opportunity to display your generous nature and your goodwill toward the other. Since the paying hand seems to balance out with time, both parties are able to experience each sentiment equally and everyone wins.

In these last pre-Oxford days, friends and family have been exceedingly generous with my wife and me, and we are most grateful. Many say that Europe is quite different from the US, pointing to a lack of joy and happiness, and I think if this is true, it is a direct outcome of their lack of potluck dinners. Maybe potlucks have become the rage in Europe since my last visit, but even if not, we can show our munificence in the restaurant. We must continue to show ourselves capable, both of provision and of generosity, for in my opinion, these two causes are chiefly why we labor. I may not be able to duel with the likes of Aaron Burr, but I nonetheless know the meaning of honor. So both in Oxford and back in the US afterward, I hope to be a frequent wager of the Battle of LeChèque.