My Entitled Date Brought Her Own Bell with Her to the Restaurant to Get Server’s Attention…

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.

And then, the night took an even stranger turn. A guy from a nearby table walked over, looked at Vanessa’s bell, and then at her. “That’s a pretty neat idea. What does it cost to get one of those?”

Vanessa, still trying to keep her composure, said, “About $20 online.”

Without a word, the guy grabbed the bell, wound up like a baseball pitcher, and hurled it onto the roof of the restaurant. He pulled a $20 bill from his wallet, dropped it on our table, and calmly returned to his seat.

The entire patio erupted in laughter. Vanessa’s face turned bright red as she whipped around to me, fuming. “Are you going to do something about that?”

Struggling to contain my laughter, I leaned back and said, “Honestly, I think he came up with a better idea than I ever could.”

Vanessa was livid. “You’re just going to let him throw my bell?”

I kept my cool. “Vanessa, it’s not about the bell. It’s about how you’re treating people. You don’t need a bell to get attention. You just need to be polite.”

She looked genuinely baffled. “What do you mean? It’s efficient. I don’t see the problem.”

I shook my head, still smiling. “It’s not about efficiency. It’s about respect. You’re acting like people are beneath you.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please. It’s their job to serve us.”

At that point, I knew there was no saving the evening. I paid the check (she didn’t even pretend to offer), and we left. As we walked to the parking lot, she tossed out one last comment, “Some people just don’t appreciate class.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. “Yeah, well, class is hard to find these days.”

She didn’t catch the jab—or maybe she didn’t care. Either way, I knew this would be the last time I’d be seeing Vanessa and her silver bell.

The lesson? Entitlement doesn’t just make you look bad—it makes everyone around you wonder what on earth you were thinking. As for the bell, it’s probably still sitting on the roof, right where it belongs.