How Cash-Only Restaurants Are Like the Bad Boy You Just Can’t Quit

By Courtney Jordan

Living in New York City, my anxiety about ending up at a cash-only restaurant and realizing it only after the bill has come strikes a fear chord similar to my recurring middle school nightmare of realizing everyone in study hall remembered to wear a shirt besides me.

The dreaded: “There’s an ATM at the bodega across the street.” Um, I’d rather die than be seen Froggering across the street to pay a $3.50 surcharge to an off-brand money machine and then pathetically apologizing for not knowing the rules. Upon reentry, I curse myself thinking I’m never coming here again. I’ll never make this mistake again. I’ll never call him again. (I mean…)

However, in the off-chance I arrive fully prepared with $40 of cold-hard cash in my pocket, do you think I even hesitate to send a steaming sidelong glare to customers who promise to “be right back” as they run to grab cash? No. I soak it in like a local with all the false smugness of a first-class Delta passenger staring down the incoming coach cattle as they demonstrably cross and uncross their legs with ease.

Cash-only restaurants, while mostly functioning to protect themselves from the charges inflicted on them by credit card companies, also send the message that what they got is hot, and you are not. They don’t need your business, so you better come correct. Instead of despising yourself for thinking you were ever cool enough to be accepted just as you are, equip yourself. Consider the same relationship red flags used to detect a bad boy:

He never accepts blame.

Cash-only restaurants just are who they are, and you can’t change them. It’s unlikely you’ll get an apology from the restaurant for not accepting your legal tender and perfectly acceptable assumption that you could swipe your way to that pour over coffee and matcha green tea donut. I’m reminded of a divey local diner from my childhood with a sign above the kitchen that read “This ain’t Burger King. You either get it my way or you don’t get the damn thing.” Translation: it’s not their fault for being exclusive and picky, it’s yours.

He’s a lone wolf.

With the exception of a few well-known chains in the metropolitan area, most cash-only establishments aren’t rolling deep with franchises. Being cash-only is directly counter-intuitive to the growing millennial spending habits, communicating to the public that they don’t care about being inclusive — they only care about saving themselves the 2% charge. Larger corporations typically don’t have this mindset.

According to recent reports, 56% of adults 18–29 say they aren’t comfortable carrying cash, and prefer to use plastic only for purchases.

He’s got girls waiting in the wings.

Bad boys have a cult following of women itching for their chance to sacrifice their morals for a cig break on school property. Cash-only restaurants are no different. Having a take-it-or-leave-it attitude brings all the Instagrammers to the yard, and presumes that the food and/or atmosphere is so desirable they don’t even have to be nice.

He’s got baggage.

Maybe daddy issues, maybe a broken heart, or maybe a 2% surcharge from credit card companies and a 24-year-old owner who doesn’t quite understand financial planning.

He doesn’t plan.

You’d think somewhere in clear writing at the entrance there might be a sign saying CASH ONLY, but oftentimes, there isn’t. It’s an unwritten rule that only insiders know, further cleaving the divide between you and everyone else in the restaurant that seem like they must live upstairs and know the owner and probably get free homemade buttermilk biscuits when they come in. It would at least explain why they are treating you like you’re a stranger in their personal kitchen.

But you still want more.

Maybe you can fix him. Becoming a regular at a hip NYC cash-only brunch spot is like pledging a fraternity. Once you’ve learned your payment lesson, and finally earn a knowing “hey guys” from the barista when you enter, it’s like you’ve finally arrived, ready to enjoy the pain of others. You sit on your perch and peer down at the plebeian, hopeful first-timers. Getting it right is a rush that you’ll return for again and again.

I don’t know. Just me?