I debated whether to post this in the debt blog, since it deals with money, or here. Since it’s more a story about friendship than money, here won out.
I’m a good friend. No, that’s not true. I’m a great friend. I am there through thick and thin. I’m the person you can call at 2 a.m. when life has you down. Once, in the wee hours of morning, I talked a friend out of doing something harmful to a young woman after she’d spurned his advances. (It’s interesting that in a few short years, this same friend tried to have a relationship with me and couldn’t understand why I wasn’t interested. But I digress.) You need outpatient surgery? I’m the girl you call to take you, wait with you, and get you home in bed. Airport runs? Yep, I do those. I have been an alibi (not for crimes, but for love), I have been a beard. I have forgiven outrages railed against me not only because I still value the friendship but because, in the end, it’s just in my heart to be that way. I treat my friends — few that they are — the way I would like a friend to treat me.
My mother has on more than one occasion accused me of being too nice for my own good. I should add that she is not, not by a long shot, so it annoys her that I am. While part of her annoyance is that I’m less like her than she’d like, the other part is that she doesn’t want to see me taken advantage of.
Which brings me to last night.
I have a friend who is … complex, for lack of better word. Because I’ve known her for years, I know that her complexity sometimes makes it difficult for others to see the fear, the uncertainty within. I don’t always agree with how she handles things, or with what she does, and I’m often in the position of having to defend her personality at work. Because I’m the friend I am, and because of the person I am — a person with few friends as it is and doesn’t need to lose anymore — I can overlook all these things and see more of the good than the bad.
While what happened last night wasn’t the worst thing in the world, it still rankles me:
I had two coupons at this taco dive to buy one dinner and get another of equal or lesser value for free, one for January and one for February. I invited her along last month on one weekend when we were both pretty broke, and with what she ordered, it was more or less equal, about $5 each. (Hey — I said it was a dive.) I’d thought about using the coupon this month to get myself one dinner and another to take home for another night, but because my friend has had such a horrible week, I thought I’d invite her along with the hope that it would distract her.
She ordered the same thing I did, but because she wanted soft tacos, there was a 50¢ surcharge for each taco. And our drinks were extra, whereas the last time, her “special” included a soft drink. Her dinner was the more expensive of the two, which meant mine was the one subtracted from the total. It came to $13.55. My friend said, without hesitation, “So … what do I owe you? Five dollars?”
I paused, a bit stunned, and used the time to sign the receipt to formulate my response. “We’ll figure it out at the table,” I managed.
We made it back to the booth and talked about random things, but in the back of my mind? “Did she really just offer me only five fucking dollars for her share?” I hated for the subject to even come back up, and on more than one occasion considered just treating her. But then I felt like, Why should I do that? Why shouldn’t she pay her share? It’s only two more bucks!
She and I had just had a conversation a couple of days ago in which I’d acknowledged that I made less than all of my friends. Not that the extra $2 would’ve broken me, but it certainly wouldn’t break her, either. As my supervisor — we were friends before she became my boss, a fact that can complicate things — she makes a significant amount more than I. Also, because she bought her place 10 years ago, her mortgage and other living expenses are a lot lower.
But it isn’t just about money. In fact, really, it’s not about money at all. It’s about feeling taken advantage of. Just this past week, so anxious was she about going to the doctor that I took time off from the middle of the afternoon to drive her and wait with her. Because that is what friends do. (I should add that the person she frequently refers to as her “best” friend did not offer.) The doctor’s office isn’t close by, and I just couldn’t imagine having to drive the several miles all the while worried that I might be dying.
When I got home last night, still shaking my head, I thought to myself, “You know, had I been in her place, I wouldn’t have offered to pay $5. I’d have offered to pay for the whole thing for taking me to the doctor.” But she is not me.
In the end, when it came time to go, I put my tip on the table. “What do I owe you?” she asked. “Seven,” I told her. She gave me the cash and I put it in my wallet. She did not leave a tip.
Next time? I go by myself.
