So, I matched with this woman named Vanessa on a dating app. Her profile had a line that said she was “high maintenance but worth it.” I shrugged it off, thinking it was some kind of joke or just her way of standing out.

We texted back and forth for a few weeks. She came off as confident, maybe a little self-absorbed, but nothing that set off alarm bells. At least, not yet.

When we finally decided to meet up, she suggested this upscale outdoor restaurant downtown. You know, the kind of place with craft cocktails and dishes that cost more than my entire grocery budget for the week. I figured, okay, she’s got expensive taste. It’s our first date, so why not make it special?

Vanessa showed up in this stunning dress, looking like she just walked out of a fashion magazine. But then she pulled this shiny silver bell out of her purse, and I thought it was some kind of quirky icebreaker or a funny prop for the night.

I laughed and said, “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 get comfortable, Vanessa gave the bell a couple of light dings. I thought, surely, she’s just messing around. But nope, she was dead serious.

Heads turned, and I felt a wave of second-hand embarrassment wash over me. Our server, a young guy with a polite smile, approached the table.

“Is there something I can help you with, ma’am?” he asked, clearly puzzled.

“Oh good, it works,” Vanessa said, totally straight-faced. She ordered a cocktail like she was at some exclusive club, not even bothering to glance at the menu. The server nodded, a bemused look on his face, and walked off. I caught him raising an eyebrow at me, and I just shrugged.

From there, it was a disaster. Every time Vanessa wanted something—water, another drink, bread—she’d ring that damn bell. Ding, ding, ding. It was relentless.

And here’s where it got interesting: the staff decided they were not playing along. Every time she rang the bell, they pretended they couldn’t hear it. No one came over. She rang it harder, and still, nothing.

At first, Vanessa was baffled. She tried to keep her cool, muttering, “This bell worked earlier.” But then she got visibly irritated.

The more she rang it, the more obvious it became that the staff was ignoring her on purpose. They kept perfectly straight faces, acting like she didn’t exist. I was sinking into my chair, wishing I could disappear.

Eventually, the manager, a middle-aged guy with a calm demeanor, approached us. He kept a perfectly straight face. “I saw you banging on that broken bell so hard I thought I’d come over to see if you were okay.”

Vanessa’s face twisted in disbelief. “Broken? It’s not broken. I’ve been using it all night.”

He smiled politely. “Must be something wrong with it. We couldn’t hear a thing back there. Maybe we should just rely on good old-fashioned waving.”

I couldn’t help but snort, trying to stifle my laughter. Vanessa, however, was far from amused. “This is ridiculous,” she snapped, glaring at the manager.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any weirder, this guy sitting a few tables over stood up and walked over to us. He looked at Vanessa’s bell, then back at her. “Hey, that’s a pretty neat idea! What does it cost for me to get one of those?”

Vanessa, still trying to maintain her composure, replied, “Oh, about $20 online.”

Without skipping a beat, the guy grabbed the bell from the table, wound up like a baseball pitcher, and launched it onto the roof of the restaurant. He calmly pulled out his wallet, slapped a $20 bill on our table, and walked back to his seat without another word.

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

I leaned back, chuckling harder than I had all night. “Honestly, I’d love to do something, but that guy just came up with better ideas than I ever could.”

Vanessa snapped, crossing her arms. “You’re just going to let that guy throw my bell?”

I clicked, trying to keep my cool. “Vanessa, it’s not about the bell. It’s just… nobody here is into this whole bell thing.”

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

I shook my head, grinning. “It’s not about efficiency. It’s about how you’re treating people. You don’t need a bell to get attention; you just need to be polite.”

Vanessa scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please. Like they care. It’s their job to serve us.”

When I simply shrugged, she stared at me like I’d lost my mind. Vanessa didn’t get it—she really thought she was being clever with that bell like it was some kind of a genius move that everyone should applaud.

The truth was finally sinking in—no one was impressed, and the whole act had backfired spectacularly. She demanded we get the check, and when it came, she didn’t even pretend to offer to split. By that point, I was ready to be done with the whole evening, so I paid and didn’t say a word.

As we walked to the parking lot, Vanessa threw out one last comment, rolling her eyes. “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 seem to catch the jab, or maybe she just didn’t care. Either way, I knew this was the last time I’d be seeing Vanessa and her bell.

The lesson? Sometimes, entitlement doesn’t just make you look bad—it makes everyone around you wonder what on earth you were thinking. And that bell? Pretty sure it’s still up on the roof, right where it belongs.

Here’s another story you might like: When Ronny meets Denise for their first date, he’s shocked to find her mother, Claire, tagging along. Over dinner, Claire’s intrusive questions and expensive demands reveal their true intentions. But Ronny, quick-witted and unfazed, hilariously turns the tables on them both.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.