The National Sport

Robert
Treborlang
Australia

The National Sport
In Italy the national sport is chasing the opposite sex; in Brazil, dabbling in candomble witchcraft; in Hungary, attempting suicide on quiet Sunday afternoons; in India, going on pilgrimage to remote and inaccessible temples; in the Soviet Union, dodging the secret police.

  In Australia the national sport is splitting-the-bill.

  Unknown in most other countries, splitting-the-bill is as uniquely Australian as the great rock of Uluru or the small perforations in Sao biscuits. Practised in the nation's restaurants, coffee lounges and hotels by people of all ages and backgrounds, bill-splitting is the embodiment of the Australian's personal commitment to fair play.

  "Let me take care of this."
  "Don't be silly."
  "Ah, thanks."
  "No, no, we'll split the bill."

  The Chinese, by contrast, brought up under oligarchic regimes, do not accept the division of any restaurant account. Among them it is always the eldest at the table or the person responsible for the inviting, who does the paying. The Greeks too, warped by centuries of Turkish oppression, refute bill-splitting, and will fight to the last for the right to settle the entire tab.

  Australians, unaware of their global uniqueness in this field, split bills on every conceivable occasion and as often as possible. With the single-minded devotion of those who know of no alternatives, they take the entire process rather seriously and practise with the fervour of devoted aficionados.

  Like all deeply rooted indigenous sports, splitting-the-bill has strict rules which Australians learn from early childhood.

  If you happen to come from an alien background, you might do well to practise at home in small groups, until you're proficient enough to try it out in public.

  There are several steps to follow:

1	Six good friends meet and decide to have a meal at an ethnic restaurant. All evening they remark how nice the place is, how good the food is and how cheap it is. Finally the bill arrives.
2	The bill is passed around and everyone studies the addition as if memorising it. No conversation takes place while this ritual occurs. Everyone is intent on the final outcome. Eventually a voice is heard to say: "Twenty-two dollars each."*
3	You can be sure there's a few startled reactions: "I didn't eat the garlic bread." "But you had the mineral water." "I didn't have a first course." "You had some of my pancakes." "But not the cucumber salad." "I certainly didn't order it."
4	Details sorted out, the friends reach into their pockets and put some money on the plate. Invariably the total comes to the wrong amount. "It's four dollars short!" "It wasn't me." "Me neither." "Not me." "And I haven't got my change yet." Silence. "We'll have to put in an extra 80 cents each."
5	Everyone throws down some coins and scurries away in a bad mood, before the waiter notices that they've left no tip.

* One can always tell well-bred Australians from the speed with which they work out their share of a bill.

Copyright © 1991-2002 - Robert Treborlang

Robert
Treborlang
Australia

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