Brian Holden: Fuss over $50 ends up below the belt

If you're going to vie to pick up the tab, first make sure you hold the money in a tight fist. Photo / File

We've all been in the situation when approaching the cafe counter to pay for coffees or drinks for ourselves and a friend, both parties simultaneously reach into their wallet or purse with the gesture: "No. I'll pay for this. My shout - I insist". It's a frantic race to be first to thrust the money towards the cashier who must see this same ritual daily, dozens of times. Then of course there's the dialogue that follows: "Are you sure? Didn't you pay last time?"

The ritual fits perfectly with the etiquette of dining out and the desire to tilt the little set of scales we have in our heads, in the direction of generosity. It's always preferable to be seen as generous - even excessively so, rather than to be considered even a little bit mean. Although, there are those who are happy to sit at a bar drinking with friends, then habitually duck away to the small room just before it becomes their turn to pay for the "next round".

Quickly they earn the reputation of being a miser and friends will make no bones about suggesting that it is time to open their wallet. As social beings, our extent of generosity has its limits - and never to be taken for granted.

Sometimes of course, the offer to pay is refused with such vigour an interesting little drama session can ensue. Like this scenario: When going through the supermarket checkout in Newcastle, Australia, recently, my sister-in-law insisted that she pay her host $50 towards the trolley-load of groceries.

As you would have guessed, the offer was refused. After the expected "No - I insist" reply, a drama session sprung into action with the $50 note being thrust back and forth as if it was a piece of hot coal.

In the process, the note dropped and landed right beside the movable belt where you place all your grocery items. Somehow it worked its way right down under the belt, out of sight deep inside the drive mechanism.

Much to the entertainment of onlookers and the frustration of shoppers waiting in the queue, the supervisor had to dismantle the belt-drive mechanism to retrieve the $50 note. Rather embarrassing.

Perhaps we should take heed that should such an offer be made, even if overly generous, save the drama - and just gratefully accept.

Plastic-ware manufacturers Tupperware are so proud and confident about the quality of their products, they guarantee them for life: "Tupperware brand products are warranted by Tupperware against chipping, cracking, breaking or peeling under normal non-commercial use for the lifetime of the product. Please call Customer Care toll-free at 1-800-TUPPERWARE (1-800-887-7379) for free replacement".

Our household has been the owner of one particular Tupperware bowl for the best part of 40 years. We have used the handy green plastic bowl for mixing cakes, preparing salads and savories - and even dare I say to catch the odd leak or two when we had that nasty bad black polythene piping through our house - now replaced.

But alas, finally after all these years the bowl has given up the ghost, with a couple of chips and splits recently developing. A timely opportunity to get on the phone to Tupperware and hit them up for a replacement. But seriously, could we bring ourselves to dial the number? No way.

In fact we should be sending them a card, congratulating them on producing such a fine product that has served us for so long. We're more than happy to go down town and buy a new bowl. The scary thing is, we won't be around for another 40 years to get the full benefit of our purchase!

Stop press. A friend has just informed me of her Tupperware experience: "I had a lid of a Tupperware cake container and that, too, was approximately 40 years old ...

"I happened to email them and ask if I could buy a new one and a few days later, a Tupperware representative was at my door with a brand new lid!

Fitted perfectly!"

No charge, she said ... "guaranteed for life!"

-Brian Holden has lived in Rotorua for most of his life and has been writing his weekly column for 11 years.