When I agreed to meet Vanessa for our first date, I knew it wouldn’t be your typical evening. What I didn’t expect was finding myself at a fancy restaurant, watching her ring a silver bell for service as if she were royalty. That marked the beginning of one of the strangest nights of my life.
Vanessa and I matched on a dating app. Her profile said she was “high maintenance but worth it.” I brushed it off, assuming she was joking or just trying to be memorable.
We texted for a few weeks, and while she seemed confident—maybe a little self-absorbed—it wasn’t enough to set off any red flags. Not yet, anyway.
For our first date, Vanessa picked a high-end outdoor restaurant downtown—the kind of place where cocktails cost more than my weekly groceries. I figured she had expensive tastes, and it being our first date, I decided to go along with it. Why not make it special?
Vanessa showed up in a stunning dress, looking like she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. As we walked to our table, she pulled a shiny silver bell from her purse. I thought it was a quirky joke or some kind of icebreaker.
I laughed and asked, “What’s that for? A secret weapon?” She smiled, but it was one of those smiles that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
We sat down, and before I could even settle in, she gave the bell a couple of light dings. At first, I thought she was just playing around. But no, she was completely serious.
Heads turned, and I felt a wave of second-hand embarrassment. Our server, a young guy with a polite smile, came over.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked, clearly puzzled.
Vanessa beamed and ordered a cocktail, barely glancing at the menu. The server, looking bemused, walked away, raising an eyebrow at me. I just shrugged, feeling the awkwardness growing.
From there, things quickly spiraled. Every time Vanessa wanted something—water, more bread, another drink—she rang that bell. Ding, ding, ding. It was relentless.
Here’s where it got interesting: the staff decided they weren’t having it. Every time Vanessa rang the bell, they pretended not to hear it. No one came over. She rang it again, harder this time, and still nothing.
At first, she was confused. “This bell worked earlier,” she muttered, clearly annoyed.
As it became more obvious that the staff was ignoring her, her frustration grew. She rang the bell more aggressively, but they continued to act like she didn’t exist. I was sinking into my seat, wishing I could disappear.
Eventually, the manager, a calm, middle-aged guy, came over. Keeping a perfectly straight face, he said, “I saw you banging on that broken bell so hard I thought I’d come over to see if you were okay.”
Vanessa looked flabbergasted. “Broken? It’s not broken! I’ve been using it all night.”
With a polite smile, the manager replied, “Must be something wrong with it. We couldn’t hear a thing back there. Maybe it’s best to just wave when you need something.”
I tried to suppress my laughter, but it slipped out. Vanessa, however, was far from amused. “This is ridiculous,” she hissed at the manager.
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