For years, my wealthy in-laws did the same trick: they ‘forgot’ their wallets at dinner to avoid paying. When they invited my mum to a fancy restaurant, thinking she would fall for it too, they had no idea she was ready. This time their scam failed…spectacularly.
I was raised to believe that family was something important: loyalty, honesty, supporting each other.
Growing up, my parents instilled in me that a person’s character is measured not by what they have, but by what they give away.
We were not rich, but we never thought about helping others or giving our share.
Then I married my husband, and that’s where I got a reality check.
My husband’s family had everything money could buy: a spacious house in the nicest part of town, luxury cars in a heated garage and holidays to places I’d only seen in magazines.
But for all their wealth, they had a particular habit that made my stomach turn every time we got together: they never, ever paid their share at restaurants.
‘They did it again,’ I complained to my husband Dan after his parents slipped out of the restaurant while he was in the bathroom, leaving us with a $300 bill. ‘Your dad literally pretended to get a phone call!’
Dan sighed, his shoulders slumping as he pulled out his credit card. ‘I know, I know. They’ve always been like that.’
‘But they have more money than they know what to do with! Your mum’s handbag is worth more than our monthly rent!’
‘Believe me, I’ve tried to talk to them about it. They just…I don’t know. That kind of money doesn’t mean anything to them, so they don’t see anything wrong with it.’
Over the years, it’s become a dreadful routine: complicated orders, expensive wines, and then hour-long excuses.
‘Oh, I forgot my wallet at home!’ – his mother would announce, patting her designer handbag.
‘I need to answer the phone,’ his father would mutter, already halfway to the door.
Even Dan’s brother, Tyler, and his wife Jen had adopted the family tradition and become masters of dine-and-dash.
No one called out to them. Not the friends who had to foot the bill, nor their business associates who whispered about it afterwards.
Then came the invitation.
‘Mom is planning to celebrate her 60th birthday with dinner at that fancy Italian restaurant downtown,’ Dan told me one night. ‘She told me about it yesterday. She wants the whole family there.’
‘When will that be?’ I asked, already feeling my wallet stagger.
‘Next Friday. That’s good news for us, since we’ll be out of town, but here’s the thing – since we won’t be able to make it, they want to invite your mum.’
I froze. ‘My mum? Why?’
‘She mentioned she wanted to get to know her better,’ Dan said, but I smelled a rat.
My mother-in-law has never before shown much interest in getting to know my mum. Moreover, she said several times that they had nothing in common.
It all felt very much like a set up.
Unfortunately, we couldn’t even intervene.
A few months ago, Dan and I planned a weekend trip to Mexico, a rare chance to celebrate our anniversary without interruption. The dates coincided, and our tickets were non-refundable.
‘We have to warn her,’ I said and reached for the phone.
Mum picked up on the third ring.
‘Hi, honey! How are you doing?’
‘Mum, Dan’s parents want you to attend his mum’s birthday dinner…’
‘Yes! She texted me an hour ago. I’m looking forward to it.’
A knot of dread knotted in my stomach. ‘Mum, I need to tell you something important about Dan’s parents…’
I explained their scheme, their tactics, and how they would probably try to stick her with the bill. I was on edge just talking about it, my voice rising with each example.
But my mum just laughed. ‘Oh, honey, don’t worry so much.’
‘Mum, I’m serious. They do it every time. They order the most expensive thing on the menu and then disappear when the cheque comes.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said with a calmness that puzzled me. ‘Your mother-in-law seems very excited about her birthday. I wouldn’t miss it.’
‘But…’
‘Don’t worry, honey. I’ll take care of it.’
Hanging up the phone, I turned to Dan.
‘I don’t think she took me seriously… She’s walking into a trap.’
‘Maybe they won’t do it this time,’ he suggested weakly. ‘After all, it’s a birthday celebration.’
I looked at him. We both knew better.
The night of dinner, Dan and I were at our hotel three hours away from home.
All evening I checked my phone, half expecting a panicked call from my mum. But nothing followed.
It wasn’t until the next morning that I got a text from her: Had a great night. Call me when you get home.
The waiting was killing me.
As soon as we got back on Sunday, I called her.
‘Well?’ I demanded without preamble. ‘What’s wrong?’
I could hear the smile in her voice. ‘Well, it was a pretty interesting night.’
According to my mum, the evening had started quite predictably.
My in-laws arrived at the restaurant, dressed to the hilt, my mother-in-law was decked out in jewellery that could support a small country.
They were seated at the best table in the house – a corner table overlooking the garden and the pianist.
‘They’ve ordered everything, dear. Everything.’ You could hear the amazement in Mum’s voice.
‘They had appetisers I can’t pronounce, bottles of wine that the waiter had to uncork from some special drawer. Your father-in-law got a wagyu steak that was literally studded with gold flakes.’
‘And you?’ I asked, already shuddering.
‘Oh, I only had pasta and water. I wasn’t very hungry.’
Smart woman. Minimise the damage.
‘And then what happened?’
‘Well, when the bill came, it was like watching a play where everyone knows their lines. Your mother-in-law suddenly remembered that she had forgotten her purse at home. Your father-in-law patted his pockets and pretended to realise his wallet was in the car.’
‘I knew it,’ I moaned.
‘Your brother-in-law, Tyler, claimed he needed to check on the babysitter, and his wife followed him. One by one they all disappeared, leaving me with a bill for over $1,500.’
‘Mum!’ I almost shouted. ‘Tell me you didn’t pay it!’
‘Of course not,’ she said all too calmly. ‘I called the waiter over and ordered dessert.’
‘What?’
‘A chocolate soufflé. And a glass of the most expensive port. The waiter looked embarrassed, but I just smiled and said I was still celebrating.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
‘But… I don’t understand, Mum. If they disappeared, as usual, and you didn’t pay the bill, then what happened?’
‘Well, when the waiter brought my dessert, I asked him to get the manager. His name is Robbie. You must have heard me mention him.’
‘Robbie? From when you were teaching?’
‘The very same one! He was that nice boy who always brought me an apple, remember? He owns three restaurants now.’
My mum worked as a primary school teacher for 30 years before retiring. Apparently she learned half the town, including, it seems, successful restaurant managers.
‘We had a nice chat,’ Mum continued. ‘We reminisced about old times. I told him I was waiting for my dinner companions to come back with their purses, and he thought it was just hilarious.’
I smiled. ‘Oh, I think I see where this is going.’
‘Robbie and I came up with a little plan,’ Mum said. ‘He called your relatives and very politely informed them that their company had left without paying, but not to worry, they could come back and pay the bill. Otherwise, he would have to go to the authorities to report the lunch-and-leave situation.’
I sighed. ‘He didn’t do that.’
‘Oh, he did. And he put me on speakerphone so I could hear. Your father-in-law started babbling excuses about going to withdraw money from the ATM. But Robbie just said: ‘Well, sir, that’s wonderful news. We’ll be expecting you back soon.’
‘They’re back?’
‘Like their designer trousers were on fire,’ my mum giggled.
‘Your mother-in-law was practically purple with rage. But what could they say? They’d been caught red-handed.’
‘And the bill?’
‘Robbie added a twenty-five per cent ‘inconvenience fee’ for their little disappearance. All in all, it came out to a little over $2,000.’
I sat in stunned silence before bursting into laughter. ‘Mum, you’re my hero.’
‘The most interesting thing happened this morning,’ she continued. ‘Your mother-in-law called to thank me for coming. And then she said: ‘Just so you know, we always pay for family dinners ourselves. We’ve always paid.’
‘What a cheeky thing to say!’
‘Some people only learn when there are consequences, dear. I think your relatives have just learnt an expensive lesson.’
She was right.
In the months that followed, something marvellous happened. Whenever we went out to dinner with Dan’s family, my mother-in-law would announce loudly at the beginning of the meal, ‘Everyone, we’re paying separately tonight.’
The waiter nodded, embarrassed by her emphatic tone, and Dan and I exchanged knowing glances.
