I am so with the Chron‘s Jon Carroll (see “I Ain’t Doing That No More“). For the sake of civility, I like to keep to a minimum any arguing over the restaurant check. If the other person offers to pay, I usually counter with one obligatory, though sincere “oh no, let me” or “let’s at least split it,” but if they insist even after I’ve gone through the drill, that’s the end of it. Mr. Chairman, I yield the bill to the distinguished gentleman with the open pocketbook. An excerpt:
I am tired of people getting rancorous because they have not been allowed to pay the tab. Look, baby, I’m on your side. You want to pay the tab, and I want you to pay the tab. You will get no arguments from me. We are united in our fervent wish to dip into your checking account.
This is fair warning. If you think it’s my turn to pay, let me pay. I am happy to pay. Paying is the very manna of life to me. But I assume it is also the manna of life to you, and I refuse to deprive you of the karmic value of generosity. Got it? Swell.
It’s much like the art of accepting compliments graciously. I don’t argue.
Speaking of pet peeves, Jason Kottke hits on another one: magazine inserts. When I get my magazines in the mail, the first thing I do is mercilessly tear out and discard all the subscription cards and special heavy-paper ads–though I tend to reprieve the ads for Broadway shows, which sometimes appear in the New Yorker, my justification being that they add local character to the issue. Otherwise, such “pop-up ads” only serve to impede my smooth perusal of the articles.
Jason brings this up in reference to David Sedaris’ “Our Perfect Summer” (also known as “The Ship Shape”), which I heard him read in D.C. earlier this year. Delicious phrase from the story: “My home, well, one of my homes…” Good stuff.