by Restaurant Class Detective – Stand-Up Routine
So I’m reading this article the other day… apparently, you can tell someone’s social class by how they act in restaurants. Yeah, there’s people out there with nothing better to do than sit in Applebee’s taking notes like they’re Jane Goodall studying gorillas.
“Day 47: The lower-middle-class male has discovered the endless breadsticks. His excitement is… primitive.”
They got eight signs that reveal if a man is lower-middle-class in restaurants. Eight! Like we needed a field guide for identifying people who care about money. What’s next? “How to spot someone who checks their bank balance before ordering dessert”?
That’s me! I’m that guy!
Sign number one: “Complaining loudly about prices.”
Oh, I’m sorry, is it impolite to notice when they’re charging me $25 for a hamburger? Twenty-five dollars! You know what I can get for $25? An entire cow! Well, maybe not an entire cow, but definitely enough cow to make me question my life choices.
And they act like price awareness is some kind of character flaw. Like caring about your money makes you unsophisticated. You know what’s really unsophisticated? Spending $8 on a Bud Light and pretending that’s normal!
Eight dollars for beer! You know what beer used to cost? I remember when beer was a quarter! Of course, I also remember when dinosaurs roamed the earth, but still!
Sign number two gets me: “Over-tipping or under-tipping with equal confidence.”
So now math is classist? I’m sitting there with my phone calculator trying to figure out 18% on $73.42, and apparently that makes me lower-middle-class? What am I supposed to do, just guess? Throw money at the table like I’m making it rain at a strip club?
“Here’s some money! I don’t know how much, but I went to fancy schools, so it’s probably right!”
The sophisticated people supposedly just “know” the right tip. How do you just know? Is there a tip chromosome? Did I miss tip class in school? Was I sick that day?
“And in advanced mathematics, we’ll be learning algebra, geometry, and mystical restaurant gratuity intuition.”
Sign number three: “Asking for the biggest steak you’ve got.”
Okay, guilty! You know why I ask for the biggest steak? Because I’m hungry! And I like steak! Sue me for wanting value for my money!
But apparently, this reveals my “primitive relationship with protein.” My primitive relationship with protein? Lady, my relationship with protein is very sophisticated. We’ve been together for years. We have an understanding. I eat it, it makes me happy. That’s not primitive, that’s efficient!
What am I supposed to say instead? “Excuse me, waiter, could you recommend a small, pretentious piece of meat that costs more per ounce than cocaine?”
Sign number four killed me: “Treating staff like royalty or servants.”
So there’s no middle ground? I’m either bowing to the waiter or treating them like my personal butler? What happened to just being… normal?
I try to be polite. “Thank you.” “Please.” “Could I get some ketchup when you have a minute?” Apparently, this reveals my “discomfort with service culture.”
You know what makes me uncomfortable? This analysis! Now I can’t even order a burger without wondering if my politeness is being judged by some restaurant anthropologist in the corner booth!
Are you here? Are you taking notes? “Subject ordered extra napkins. Clearly from modest beginnings.”
Sign number five: “Making a big deal about sending food back.”
Here’s my question: if I pay for food, and the food is wrong, when exactly did expressing dissatisfaction become a class issue?
My steak is raw. Like, still mooing. I send it back. Suddenly I’m performing some kind of “lower-middle-class drama”?
What’s the sophisticated response? “Oh, this steak is completely inedible, but I went to Yale, so I’ll just sit here and chew this raw meat with dignity”?
“Mmm, salmonella. How delightfully upper-class.”
Sign number six: “Obsessively calculating the bill.”
They want me to just glance at the check and pay it? Without looking? Are you insane?
I check restaurant bills the same way I check my tax return. Carefully! Because mistakes happen! And when they do, it’s MY money!
But apparently, doing basic arithmetic at the dinner table reveals my “financial anxiety.” You know what causes financial anxiety? SPENDING MONEY WITHOUT CHECKING!
“Here’s my credit card. Charge me whatever feels right. I trust you completely, mysterious restaurant computer system.”
Sign number seven hurt my feelings: “Treating chain restaurants like fine dining.”
I like Olive Garden! I’m not ashamed! Those breadsticks are amazing! And unlimited! Do you understand the economics of unlimited breadsticks?
But according to this article, my enthusiasm for reasonably priced Italian food reveals my “limited cultural context.” Limited cultural context? I’ve been to Italy! Well, I’ve been to the Italy section of Epcot, but still!
What’s wrong with knowing what you’re going to get for a fair price? You know what’s sophisticated? Not gambling with dinner!
“Let’s try this new place where the menu is in French, the portions are smaller than my wallet, and there’s a 50% chance we’ll leave hungry and poor!”
And the final sign, number eight: “Taking leftovers very seriously.”
Guilty as charged! You know why I take leftovers seriously? Because I paid for them! It’s my food! I’m not leaving $15 worth of pasta because I’m worried about looking poor!
They act like caring about food waste is some kind of trauma response. “He’s carefully dividing his portions… clearly his mother made him clean his plate.”
Yeah, she did! And she was right! Food costs money! Money comes from work! Work is hard! This is basic economics, not therapy!
The whole thing is ridiculous! We’ve created a society where caring about money makes you lower-class, but spending money carelessly makes you sophisticated. That’s not sophistication, that’s stupidity with better marketing!
You know what real class is? Not judging people for being smart with their money. Not making fun of people for checking prices. Not turning basic consumer behavior into a social science project.
Real class is minding your own business and letting people enjoy their unlimited breadsticks in peace.
But what do I know? I’m just a guy who tips 20%, asks for the biggest steak, and takes home leftovers. According to this article, I’m basically a caveman with a credit card.
At least I’m a well-fed caveman.
Thank you, you’ve been a great audience! Try the steak – get the biggest one they’ve got!
