When Ansel started her new job, she just wanted to get along with her coworkers and feel like part of the team. The office had a tradition: every Friday, the team went out for lunch, and they always split the bill evenly. But there was a problem. Ansel was paid much less than everyone else, and these lunches were getting expensive for her. She decided it was time to show her colleagues a little lesson.
When I first began working at this place, I really wanted to fit in with everyone. Everything was new, and I knew it was important to build good relationships with the people I’d see every day. Being part of the group felt important, so I tried to join in wherever I could.
They had their usual routines, and when they invited me to their Friday lunches, I didn’t want to say no. I didn’t want to be the only one left out. Every Friday, they went to different restaurants, and I felt I had to join to feel included.
But there was a problem.
My coworkers made a lot more money than I did. They had been at the company for years and earned comfortable salaries, while I was just starting and struggling to cover my bills. My small paycheck had to pay rent, student loans, and daily expenses—things they didn’t have to worry about anymore.
Still, every Friday, without fail, we went to restaurants where the prices seemed to get higher and higher.
And every single time, the bill was split evenly. At first, I tried not to let it bother me. “It’s just lunch,” I told myself. But after a while, I realized my money was disappearing much faster than it should have.
Here’s the thing: I’m vegetarian. My meals are usually simple and light—salads or small dishes. But Ryker and Briony always picked the most expensive meat dishes on the menu.
Ribs, steak—whatever cost the most. Their meals often went over $60 each. And yet, the bill was divided equally. My $15 salad turned into a $35 lunch because of them.
I understood that they could afford it, and they enjoyed treating themselves. At first, I stayed quiet, thinking it was part of joining the team and didn’t want to create any tension as the new person.
But after a few months, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I was spending almost half of my weekly grocery money on these lunches, and nobody seemed to notice. They would laugh, talk about their weekends, and throw their cards on the table without checking the total, not even thinking about how it affected me.
“Ansel,” my mom said seriously when she visited, carrying bags of food for me. “You need to stand up for yourself. Do you really want to waste your money on one meal and then struggle for the rest of the month?”
“No, Mom,” I replied, taking a donut she brought. “But I don’t want to cause problems, since I’m still new.”
“How would it be a problem, Ansel?” she asked. “Some things you just can’t do because of money. They’ve been in your shoes before.”
I nodded quietly. I didn’t want to upset her by admitting that I had stayed silent for so long.
One Friday, after another lunch where I had paid for food I barely touched, I finally spoke up.
“Hey everyone, I was thinking,” I said casually as we waited for the check, “maybe we could each pay for what we ordered? I don’t eat as much as you, and it would be fairer.”
Ryker laughed and shook his head.
“Separate bills? Come on, Ansel, don’t be silly. This way is easier,” he said.
Briony smirked while finishing her dessert.
“We’re fine, let’s just split like always, Ryker,” she said.
I held my tongue. I wanted to tell them I was really struggling, but I just smiled and nodded.
“Sure. No problem,” I said.
But inside, I was upset. It wasn’t just about the money—it was how they brushed off my concern, as if my opinion didn’t matter. Like I should feel lucky just to sit at the table with them.
I knew arguing wouldn’t help. So I decided to handle it differently. If they wanted to keep splitting the bill evenly, I would go along—but I would make it work for me.
The next Friday, I didn’t order my usual small veggie salad. I got two starters—one for me, one “for the table.” As usual, they happily ate the mozzarella sticks without noticing.
The following week, I went further: two starters, two main dishes. Mozzarella sticks, crumbed mushrooms, lasagna, and a four-cheese pizza. As soon as the food arrived, I asked the waiter to pack the pizza to-go before anyone could touch it. Nobody said anything, or if they noticed, they stayed quiet.
By the third week, things began to change. At our regular restaurant, I ordered two starters, two mains, and a dessert—a vegan cheesecake that was quite pricey.
“You don’t usually eat this much, Ansel,” Ryker said, looking confused.
“Guess I’m hungrier lately,” I shrugged. “Maybe the job stress.”
When the food arrived, I immediately asked for one main and one starter to-go. Briony raised an eyebrow at the neatly packed box.
“Wait, you’re actually taking food home now?” she asked, clearly annoyed.
Ryker shot me a sharp look but stayed silent when the check came. My share went over $40, meaning everyone else had to pay nearly $30 each.
When they realized what I had done, I almost laughed.
“Are you serious, Ansel?” Ryker said sharply. “You’ve been ordering all this and taking it home? And we’re paying for it?”
“I’m just following the rules we always had,” I said calmly. “We split everything evenly. Thought it was time I got something extra too.”
Briony crossed her arms.
“This isn’t a takeout service, Ansel. It’s supposed to be for team bonding,” she said.
“Yeah, but I’ve been paying for your food for weeks. Now I’m just doing what you did,” I replied.
They didn’t argue. They paid, looking annoyed.
By the fourth week, things had changed. Sitting in our usual booth, Ryker cleared his throat nervously.
“Maybe we should start doing separate checks from now on?”
Briony nodded quickly.
“That’ll be easier, especially since we all order different stuff,” she said.
I couldn’t hide my smile.
That day, I only ordered one starter and one main. Simple, just like before. When the food arrived, I offered to share—just like they used to do with their big meat plates.
“Anyone want some halloumi sticks?” I asked.
They both shook their heads, annoyed. They weren’t touching my food—they now knew they’d have to pay for it.
After that, things changed completely. The team stopped splitting bills evenly. They hadn’t realized how much extra they were spending.
And me? I finally enjoyed lunch without stress. I only paid for what I actually ate, staying within my budget. Soon, I’ll ask for a raise, and maybe money won’t feel so tight anymore.
For now, I’m happy with my salads and green tea.
