I Taught My Two Freeloader Friends a Lesson They’ll Never Forget
Hi! I’m Cecelia, and this story has been a long time coming.
Let me tell you first—I’m the kind of person who always gives 100%. In school, I didn’t rest until I got straight A’s. Now, at 27, I’ve made a good life for myself. I work as an accounts manager at a big company in the city, and my job pays well. I’m proud of everything I’ve achieved.
But this isn’t a story about my career. It’s about something way more personal—my so-called friends.
There are eight of us in the group. We’ve all been friends since college. We’ve laughed together, cried together, gone through breakups and promotions, vacations and disasters. I love them. Well, almost all of them.
Two of them—Samantha and Arnold—I just can’t respect anymore. And soon, you’ll understand why.
Let me start by showing you what kind of friend I’ve always tried to be.
Not too long ago, my friend Betty called me sobbing.
“Cecelia,” she said between sniffles, “I hate asking, but my car broke down. I need $200 for repairs or I’ll miss work. I get paid next week, but right now…”
I didn’t even let her finish.
“Betty,” I said, “I’ve got you. I’m transferring the money right now. Just pay me back whenever you can.”
She was so grateful—and true to her word, she paid me back the very next week.
Another time, Harry was stuck on moving day.
“Hey, Cece,” he said on the phone, sounding completely overwhelmed. “My moving truck is here, but everyone who promised to help bailed. I don’t know what to do.”
I couldn’t lift much—I’m more of a desk girl than a box-lifter—but I told him, “Give me twenty minutes. I’ll bring coffee and donuts. I’ll help unpack and organize everything.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Cece,” he said.
That’s how our group works—or at least, how it’s supposed to work. We help each other. We show up.
But not Samantha and Arnold.
They’ve never needed my help the way Betty or Harry did. But they’ve taken from us in other ways. Especially during group dinners. And oh boy—this is where things get juicy.
Any time we go out to eat, most of us pick normal stuff—like $20 or $25 meals. But not Samantha and Arnold. They aim straight for the most expensive items.
Once they order, they lean over and drop their sad stories.
“Oh, work’s been so slow lately,” Samantha will sigh dramatically. “I don’t know how I’ll make rent this month.”
Arnold usually says, “Man, these student loans are crushing me. I barely have enough for groceries.”
Then—surprise, surprise—when the bill arrives, one of them says, “Oh no, I forgot my wallet!” Or “I can only pay ten bucks.”
The rest of us are left awkwardly covering their $50 steaks and cocktails.
They’ve pulled this trick too many times. I was done.
I decided: No more dinners if Samantha and Arnold are there. I was sick of being used.
But then something happened that gave me the perfect opportunity to teach them a lesson.
Last weekend, Jason called me.
“Hey Cecelia,” he said cheerfully. “We’re grabbing dinner at that new spot downtown on Friday. You in?”
I hesitated. “Who’s going?”
“Just me, you, Betty, Harry, Samantha, and Arnold. Liz and Ben are out of town.”
Ugh.
“Jason,” I said, trying to keep calm, “I don’t think I can make it if Samantha and Arnold are going.”
He sounded annoyed. “Come on, Cece. It’s just dinner.”
“It’s never just dinner with those two,” I shot back. “I’m tired of paying for their luxury meals while I eat side salad.”
Then his tone changed. “Stop being a baby about it,” he snapped. “We’re tired of your complaining.”
I almost hung up. But then—an idea popped into my head. A clever, just-a-little-petty idea.
“You know what?” I said sweetly. “I’ll come.”
Jason paused. “Really? Great! See you at 7!”
I hung up, smiling. I had a plan.
Friday night came. I arrived at the restaurant right on time. The group was already there, laughing and chatting.
I slid into the booth next to Betty. Across from me were Samantha and Arnold, looking like they were already ready to cause trouble.
“Cecelia!” Samantha said in a sugary voice. “So glad you could make it! Isn’t this place fabulous?”
I forced a smile. “So fancy,” I said.
The waiter came to take our orders. Most of the group ordered normal meals, about $25 each.
Then Samantha and Arnold went full diva.
“I’ll have the Wagyu steak, medium-rare,” Samantha said. “And a glass of that 2015 Cabernet.”
Arnold added, “Make that two. And throw in a lobster tail on mine.”
Jason blinked in shock. Their meals were going to be over $150 each!
When the waiter turned to me, I smiled and said, “Just the iced tea, thanks.” It was $3.
Jason looked puzzled. “Aren’t you eating, Cecelia?”
“Lost my appetite,” I said casually.
Betty and Harry exchanged glances. A second later, they both changed their orders to drinks too.
We talked about work and life while waiting. Samantha and Arnold acted like royalty.
When their food arrived—steak, lobster, fancy side dishes—they looked almost disappointed.
“Oh no,” Samantha said, poking her plate. “This steak looks overdone. And… is this asparagus? I hate asparagus.”
Arnold frowned. “The lobster looks tiny. Is this worth the price?”
Betty rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck.
Jason said, “Well, my burger’s great! How’s your drink, Cecelia?”
“Best $3 I’ve ever spent,” I replied with a grin.
Then the check came.
Arnold grabbed it. “Alright! Let’s split it six ways.”
Here it comes.
I stood up, smiled at the waiter, and said loudly, “Actually, we’ll be splitting it three ways. Only Jason, Samantha, and Arnold had meals. The rest of us had drinks. We paid for them at the bar already.”
SILENCE.
Arnold blinked. “Wait… what?”
“You three ordered full meals,” I said calmly. “We didn’t. Why should we pay for something we didn’t eat?”
Samantha’s jaw dropped. “Cecelia, seriously? We always split the bill. That’s the rule.”
I smiled politely. “And friends don’t take advantage of each other.”
Jason’s face turned pale when he saw the final numbers. His meal was $35, but because of Samantha and Arnold, he now had to pay $115.
I left a $5 bill for the tip, stood up, and said, “Goodnight, everyone.”
As I walked out of the restaurant, I felt lighter than I had in months.
The next morning, my phone exploded with messages.
Samantha and Arnold were furious.
They called me selfish. Mean. Immature.
I just laughed. Their meals alone were more than what they ended up paying. They still got a discount—and they were mad?
Jason also messaged me. He wasn’t happy, but his tone was different.
“You could’ve just stayed home,” he said. “But… I get it. Maybe it’s time we actually talk about dinner etiquette.”
I felt a little bad about Jason’s bill. But honestly? This had been building for years.
Sometimes, you have to stand up for yourself. Even if it shakes things up a little.
Will Samantha and Arnold change? I’m not holding my breath.
But one thing is clear: I’m never going out to eat with them again—unless we all agree on separate checks!