I was having a nice dinner. The place was really fancy, with soft lights and quiet music. I had just gotten my plate, this real pretty steak with some green stuff on the side. I was cutting into it when this lady came up to my table.
She just stood there for a second, looking at me. I figured maybe she was lost or something. Then she spoke. She said, “Excuse me, I need some help.”
I looked up at her, my fork still in my hand. I guess I just stared, confused, because I wasn’t really expecting anyone to talk to me. She was wearing this loud, flowery dress. She folded her arms. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, can you help me?” she asked again.
I put my fork down. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I told her, trying to be polite. “I don’t actually work here. I’m just a customer, like you.”
Her face didn’t change at all. She just kept looking at me. “Nonsense,” she said. “I saw you walking around near the kitchen earlier. You were definitely in some kind of uniform. Now, I need to know where your special aged cheese selection is. My daughter told me to ask for it.”
I felt a little buzz start behind my eyes. I took a deep breath. “No, really,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “I don’t work here. I’m just eating my dinner.” I gestured to my plate. “I have no idea about any cheese selection.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You are being very unhelpful,” she told me, like I was failing a test. “This is a very important cheese. It’s for a party. I need it right now. Stop playing games and just show me where it is. I’m sure it’s in a cooler somewhere.”
My muscles started to tense up. My jaw felt tight. “Look,” I said, my voice getting a bit louder than I meant for it to. “I am not an employee of this restaurant. I cannot help you. I don’t know where the cheese is. I don’t even know if they have special cheese like that.”
Her eyes got wide. “Oh, so now you’re being rude,” she snapped. “This is terrible customer service. I’m going to report you. What is your name?”
A dull ache started to throb behind my forehead. I couldn’t believe this was happening. “My name doesn’t matter, because I don’t work here!” I practically yelled it. The few people around us turned to look. I could feel my face getting hot.
She took a step closer to my table. “Don’t you dare raise your voice at me!” she shrieked. “I pay good money to eat at establishments like this, and I expect respect. You are going to take me to that cheese selection right now, or I will speak to your manager and have you fired for this insolence.”
My hands were clenched into fists under the table. I could feel my whole body shaking. The anger was like a hot wave washing over me. “I don’t work here! I don’t work here! I don’t work here!” I kept saying it, over and over, my voice raw now.
She leaned across my table, right into my face. “You are absolutely pathetic,” she hissed. “I’m not leaving until you help me.” She reached out and grabbed my arm, trying to pull me up from my chair. “Get up!” she demanded.
That was it. My vision went a bit blurry around the edges. I didn’t even think. All the anger, all the frustration, it just exploded. I ripped my arm away from her hand. Then I stood up real fast and pushed her as hard as I could. She stumbled back, hitting a nearby waiter station with a crash, sending glasses flying and shattering on the floor. People were screaming.
The next thing I knew, someone grabbed me from behind. Then more people. They were shouting at me. The lady was on the floor, yelling about calling the police. Everything was a blur after that. I just remember the cold air outside as they walked me to a police car.
