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The psychology of "I'll get you next time"
“I’ll get you next time” might be the most optimistic sentence in the English language.
It gets said thousands of times a day across the country, over coffee counters and in those little folders restaurants bring with the check tucked inside. And I’d guess most of the people who say it fully mean it in the moment. The trouble is what happens in the gap between the moment and the next time.
I’ve written before about being the friend who always paid, and how that slowly soured on me. This is sort of the other side of it. Not the person who always grabs the check, but the system a lot of friendships run on, where you take turns and trust that it all comes out in the wash.
When it works, it’s honestly lovely. My friend Theo and I have been getting breakfast most Saturdays for something like four years, and we alternate. He pays, then I pay. We don’t keep track in any formal way, and I couldn’t tell you who’s ahead. Probably one of us is up by a breakfast or two. Neither of us cares, and I think that’s the point. The rotation isn’t really about money. It’s a small ritual that says “we’re going to keep doing this,” because you can’t take turns with someone you’re not planning to see again.
That’s the hidden psychology, I think. “I’ll get you next time” is really a promise of another hangout dressed up as a money thing. It’s why it can feel cold and a bit transactional when someone insists on splitting a $9 coffee down to the cent. They’re not being cheap, necessarily. But it can feel like they’re closing the account, like they’re making sure nothing is left hanging between you, and something left hanging is kind of what keeps friendships going.
So when does it even out? From what I’ve seen, it works best when the amounts are roughly similar each time and the two of you see each other often. It helps, too, if neither of you is stretched so thin that a lopsided month actually stings. Theo and I order basically the same breakfast and we both have steady jobs. A $30 swing in either direction is nothing.
When does it never even out? Usually when one of those things drifts.
The amounts are the sneakiest. I had a running rotation with a college friend, Bridget, that started with cheap tacos. Then she got into a fancier restaurant scene, and somehow her “turns” stayed taco-sized while mine crept up to $80 dinners at places with cloth napkins. Neither of us planned it. It just happened, one choice at a time. By the time I noticed, it wasn’t even close, and I felt petty for noticing at all.
Frequency drifts too. The rotation depends on there being a next time. If someone moves across the country or has a baby, the last “I’ll get you” can hang there for years. I have one from 2019 I’m fairly sure I’ll never collect. Kevin, if you’re reading, I’ve let it go.
And then there’s the person who, without any bad intent, just never quite remembers it’s their turn. They’re not scheming. Their brain just doesn’t file it. They’ll say “I’ll get you next time” with total sincerity, and then next time arrives and they reach for their wallet a half second slower than you do, every time, and you let them, because what kind of person argues about whose turn it is?
I think the trick, if there is one, is noticing early and saying it lightly. Not as an accusation. More like a playful nudge while the stakes are small. “Pretty sure this one’s yours, I got the last two,” said with a grin over a $12 lunch, is a completely different conversation from the one you’d have six months and $400 later, after you’ve been stewing. Early, it’s a joke. Late, it’s a reckoning.
Another approach that works for some people is just switching systems when the rotation stops feeling fair. Split the check for a while. Nobody has to make a speech about it. You can just say “want to split it?” and most people will say sure, and the old ledger quietly closes without anyone having to settle it.
What I try not to do anymore is pretend I’m not keeping score when I clearly am. If I care about the imbalance, I’d rather say something small now than carry it around and let it change how I feel about someone. And if I genuinely don’t care, I try to really not care, all the way, the way Theo and I don’t.
Last Saturday he reached for the check and I said, “Wait, wasn’t it my turn?” He thought about it for a second. “No idea,” he said, and paid anyway.
The OweMate blog is written by the people who make OweMate, a simple way to keep track of money between friends and family.