Bar Fine Is Not a Contract

Andrew paid the bar fine at 10:14 p.m.

By 10:16, he believed he was in a relationship.

The cashier took the money, wrote a number on a chit and nodded toward Fern. The payment compensated the bar for losing a staff member for the evening.

Andrew understood it differently.

To him, the transaction had upgraded the night from commercial to exclusive.

He stopped buying lady drinks because Fern was now “with him.” He told another customer she was unavailable. On the walk to the restaurant, he asked whether she worked every night.

Fern answered honestly.

“Almost every night.”

Andrew heard tragedy.

Over dinner, he explained that she was too intelligent for bar work. Fern agreed. People rarely argue with compliments, especially when seafood is arriving.

By midnight, Andrew had developed a rescue plan involving an apartment, an online shop and possibly a visa.

Fern had developed a headache.

At 1:07 a.m., she said she wanted to go home.

Andrew looked betrayed.

“But I paid the bar fine.”

“Yes,” Fern said. “To bar.”

That was the part he had missed.

The bar fine had purchased her absence from work. It had not purchased her enthusiasm, her remaining evening or the future Andrew had constructed between the starter and main course.

He returned to the bar alone and asked the cashier whether he could get a refund.

She looked at the clock.

“She left bar, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then bar fine work.”

Andrew spent twenty minutes explaining why it had not.

The cashier listened politely. She had heard the same complaint in four accents.