A couple of days ago, during one of my shifts, I was asked if I could separate the checks for one of my tables. The only blonde-haired adult, a woman, wanted to pay for herself and two of the children.

Usually, this wouldn’t be an issue, but the meal ended with her face bloodshot red and a tear almost leaving its eyelid.

Walking into the restaurant, the staff was told that there was a reservation for a 16-top and a 12-top coming. It’s a young Wednesday afternoon, so I wanted one of the parties to kick off the day with an automatic 20 percent tip.

“When the table is ready for the bill, give it to the grandfather. He is paying for everyone,” the host said to me.

Easy enough. The family eats their celebratory lunch and cake, and then I give the check to the head honcho—another big party.

That’s why when the woman asked to be on a separate bill, she had me in a bit of a predicament. I asked Jess, one of the owners, what to do since she was also told that the grandfather would get the bill. Thankfully, she knew the family.

I learned the role of this woman in the family, and I began to understand the request more and even sympathize.

This gathering was a young girl’s confirmation in church. The original reservation was for nine people but later changed to 12. I assume it was the mother, father, grandparents, uncle, and siblings.

The woman and her two kids were, of course, the later additions. So, who is she?

“The blonde-haired woman is the new wife of the man she is sitting next to,” Jess answered the question I posed in my head. “The ex-wife is my friend in the brown blouse – this is her family.”

Instantly, I saw why she wanted to pay for her squad. I wanted to applaud the ex and current wife for being in the same room. Let alone sit one chair away from each other. I can’t picture a woman in my family being close to their partner’s new partner and not getting rowdy.

Do I split the bill then, or do what I was told initially? My boss and I could only shrug our shoulders at a solution that wouldn’t lead to some form of argument.

After a minute of going back and forth, I explained the woman’s request to the grandfather, who had explicitly said he was taking care of everyone from the beginning. He didn’t change his plan, so I wasn’t splitting the check.

She asked me for a second time to make sure I did so. Unfortunately, my mind was made up, and I let Grandpa treat everyone.

I see where this woman comes from, but where is the harm in a free meal? I didn’t expect to get a close-to-crying woman at the cash register wanting to pay for an already-paid meal.

The group was a delight. One of the grandmothers was from England and made plenty of jokes throughout the meal. The other grandmother was quiet but expressive through her movements. The grandfather sat with a smile on his face.

Right before the cake, the English grandmother told me to sit so she could give me the coffee order. This was arguably my favorite table of the day. After the order, I started bringing out the cake.

Grandpa used this as a queue to pay for the meal. He came to the bar room in our restaurant, where the POS system and cash registers were, out of sight of his family. I didn’t have to drop the check and start a fuss at the table.

Boom… the transaction was complete.

I go up to the table and thank them for their company. I told them to take care and have a great rest of their day. Walking away, I felt the eyes of the new wife looking around, confused and furious.

I did my job, and they were settled. I tried to avoid contact because I knew something would be said. I was right.

As everyone was walking out the door, she approached me and asked if the bill was paid for. I told her yes. The grandfather came up and just took care of it all.

Face red and eyes screaming anger, the woman tells me, “I asked you twice for me to have a separate check. I did that for reasons you couldn’t possibly understand. Ugh.”

All I can say is sorry about that ma’am.

Hope you enjoyed the lunch.