The waitress was nowhere in sight as my wife downed the last of her margarita at El Toro Blanco in downtown Manhattan on Sept. 25. It was getting a little late and a little cold. We were ready to go. So we stood up and left. As we speed-walked to the subway, I felt the same illicit giddiness as when I last skipped out on the check. Although the Pizzeria Uno I sprinted out of in 1998 has yet to bring charges, El Toro Blanco caught up with me quickly. A few minutes later, a message popped up on my phone telling me that my credit card had been charged the full amount, plus 20 percent tip.
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