When I met Vanessa for our first date, nothing could prepare me for her unexpected approach to getting the server’s attention. This was no ordinary meeting. I’d barely settled into my chair at the fancy restaurant before she began ringing a silver bell she’d brought from home!

We had matched on a dating app, where Vanessa described herself as “high maintenance but worth it.” At the time, I thought it was just part of her charm – turns out it was more of a warning.

After a few weeks of texting, I agreed to her choice of an upscale outdoor dining venue. Her entrance was as striking as her choice of venue, arriving in a dress that could’ve graced any high-fashion magazine cover. However, before we got comfortable, out came a glittering silver bell from her bag.

Vanessa set it down with a smile, not an ounce of humor in her glance. I tried to joke about it, thinking it was a spontaneous quirk. Little did I know, she was entirely serious.

Soon, she was giving her bell a gentle ring — for service! The heads of other diners turned, and our server approached, frankly puzzled by the whole affair.

She placed her orders as if she ran the establishment. Each time she wanted anything – be it water or a new drink – the bell chimed, and I quickly became the embodiment of secondhand embarrassment.

The servers were not entertained. They expertly ignored the bell like it was a child misbehaving. The more seriously she rang the bell, insisting it had worked before, the more committed the staff were to their indifference.

Enter the manager, a middle-aged man armed with a stoic expression and calm presence. “I noticed some intense bell-ringing, so I thought I’d check if you needed assistance,” he said, with no hint of amusement.

Vanessa was adamant the bell was not broken, yet he, maintaining his smile, suggested that a simple, friendly wave might serve her better.

The suggestion irked Vanessa, and I struggled to contain my chuckles.

Then, came the unexpected twist. A diner from a nearby table stood and, with a twinkle in his eye, asked about getting a bell for himself. Vanessa, attempting calm, quoted its price.

To our bemusement, he pitched the bell onto the roof after paying Vanessa for its worth, sparking laughter across the patio. Even annoyed, Vanessa demanded I act. But honestly, his move resonated with how the staff and I felt all evening.

Despite her frustration, she just didn’t grasp why nobody shared her view on bell-ringing as a rightful means of communication.

Finally, the evening was winding down. It was I who footed the bill, Vanessa having not offered to chip in. Her parting shot about class almost had me rolling my eyes. I watched her go, positive there’d be no second date.

My takeaway? Entitlement rarely gets the reaction one hopes for. And the bell? I imagine it’s still echoing in memory, clinging to its spot on the roof, exactly where Vanessa left it behind.

The twist and humor of the night will certainly stay with me. It was a learning moment: that sometimes, modesty can accomplish more than any small bell ever could.