Kvetchup

I went to dinner with my friend Jonas last night to Ketchup, a meat haven on the Sunset Strip that looks like the set of a Stanley Kubrick movie. They couldn't seat us right away, so we had a drink at the bar first.

When we got our table, the bartender asked us to close out at the bar. The complication was this: we had a $100 voucher Jonas had gotten from Groupon.com that we wanted to pay with. But after the bartender went and asked the manager, he informed us that we could only use the voucher to pay for dinner, and not at the bar.

This was annoying. The bar was in the restaurant, but we had to pay separately for the two bills? There was no possible way to merge them together? Give me a break. The manager probably asked the bartender, "Are these customers a couple of pussy-looking Jews? They are? Okay, you handle it however you want. Whatever's easiest. They're not gonna make a fuss."

So we paid for the drinks separately. But the bartender, swell guy that he was, could sense our aggravation, and eased our frustration by saying he was only going to charge us for one drink. "Hey, thanks man, really appreciate it," we gushed gratefully. "No problem guys," he said, waving his hand modestly, as we went and sat down at our table.

Later on in the meal I ordered another drink, but Jonas didn't want one. But then our waitress informed us it was Twofer Tuesday: all drinks are buy one, get one free. "Okay," Jonas said, "I'll get another one."

Then we looked at each other, realizing. That asshole bartender had made himself out to be such a great guy by only charging us for one drink, like he was doing us a favor, when that was just the standard promotion for the evening. We got fooled by the old "For you, special price" line fancied by used car salesmen and third world souvenir hockers. He had stood there and basked in our gratitude, using our appreciation to feel good about himself, when in reality he had pulled nary a string for us.

I feel so dirty.