A Dinner Meant to Celebrate, and the Lesson It Unexpectedly Served

I tried to brush it off, reminding myself that experiences are rarely perfect. Still, the tension lingered. Each interaction with the waiter chipped away at the joy of the night—an eye roll here, a curt response there. My girlfriend squeezed my hand under the table, silently telling me it was okay, that what mattered was us. When the bill arrived, totaling $180, I paid without complaint, hoping to end the evening on a graceful note. That was when the waiter returned, placing the receipt back on the table and stating, flatly, that I had forgotten his service fee. Something in his tone struck a nerve, not because of the money, but because it felt like the final dismissal of our experience.

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