It was a Saturday, one of those perfect ones with sun but not too hot, just right for walking around the outdoor market. I like these places, so many people, so many things happening. My senses get a good workout, listening to music, smelling different foods, watching everyone. I was looking for a new plant for my apartment, something with big leaves. I can tell you many types of tree leaves just by feeling them, a strange thing my father taught me.
I found a little spot near a big oak tree, a nice place to watch the world. Not far from me, maybe twenty feet, was a small picnic table, wooden, with some shade from a big umbrella. A young woman was sitting there. She had a gentle face and wore a simple dress. She was eating a small pastry and drinking coffee. On the table, next to her, was a book and a bag. She looked comfortable, just enjoying her morning.
Then, another woman came. She was maybe just a little older than me, probably around twenty-two or twenty-three. She walked with a sway, like she thought everyone was looking at her because she was so special. Her hair was bright blonde, tied back in a messy bun, and she wore a tight top that was a bit too small. She carried a small child on her hip, a boy maybe three years old, who looked tired and grumpy. This woman, she had a way of looking at people, like they were not important, like they were in her way.
She stopped right next to the picnic table where the first woman was sitting. She did not say hello or excuse me. She just stood there, staring at the woman with the pastry. The child started to fuss, pulling at her shirt. The woman did not seem to notice him much.
The first woman, the one with the gentle face, looked up. She smiled a little, a polite smile. “Good morning,” she said. Her voice was soft, like a quiet song.
The new woman did not smile back. She put her hand on her hip and looked at the picnic table. Her eyes seemed to scan the table, looking at the book and the bag, then back to the gentle woman’s pastry. “I need this table,” she stated. Her voice was not soft. It was like a bell ringing too loud.
The gentle woman blinked. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just finishing up. I’ll be gone in about ten minutes.” She gestured to her half-eaten pastry.
The new woman laughed, a short, sharp sound. “Ten minutes? My son needs to sit NOW. And I need to sit NOW. This is the best table here, with the shade.” She pointed at the umbrella like she owned it. “You can find another place.”
I watched. I could feel other people nearby starting to notice. Not big, obvious stares, but quick glances, then back to their own business, but they were listening. The child on the entitled woman’s hip started to whimper more loudly. He kept pointing at the pastry. The entitled woman ignored him, still focused on the table.
The gentle woman’s smile did not leave her face, but it looked a little strained now. “There are other tables, just a little further down, with shade,” she said kindly. “I saw one by the flower stall, it’s empty.”
The entitled woman crossed her arms, shifting the child more roughly. He let out a small cry. “I saw those. They are not as good. This one is perfect. I want this one. Why are you being so difficult?” She looked around, as if expecting someone to agree with her, or perhaps to back her up. Nobody did. People just looked away faster.
My mind was working quickly. This woman, she just expected things. She thought her desire was more important than anyone else’s presence. She did not seem to think about how her words affected others, or even how her son was feeling. It was all about what she wanted, right now. It was like she learned the world worked exactly how she wished, and if it didn’t, it was broken.
The gentle woman sighed, a small sound. “I was here first,” she said, still very calm, still very nice. “I am almost done. If you can wait a few minutes, you can have it.”
The entitled woman threw her head back a little. “Waiting is not an option. My son is tired.” She bounced the child slightly, but he still looked miserable. “Just move your stuff. It’s not a big deal. You can sit on the grass.”
She made a shooing motion with her hand. Her voice was getting louder, attracting more attention. I saw a vendor at a nearby jewelry stand look over, then quickly look away, pretending to be busy.
Suddenly, the child on her hip, who had been quietly whimpering, started to wail loudly. He pointed directly at the gentle woman’s pastry, tears streaming down his face. “Want! Want that!” he screamed. The entitled woman looked surprised, then annoyed. She tried to hush him, but he just screamed louder.
“See?” she said, turning her head back to the gentle woman. “He needs that table. He’s hungry!” This was not true. He wanted the pastry. The gentle woman looked at the child with sympathy.
Then, something else happened, very fast. A small, fluffy white dog, the kind with very short legs and lots of hair, suddenly darted out from between two people, barking loudly. It was running very fast, happy and wild, its leash trailing behind it. It ran right between the entitled woman’s legs, making her stumble a little. She let out a small shriek, and for a second, I thought she might drop the child. She held on tight, but she had to adjust her balance, spinning slightly.
The dog kept running, chasing after a rolling apple that had fallen from a fruit stand. Everyone looked at the dog for a moment, surprised. A woman, yelling “Princess! Come back!” ran after it. This little chaos pulled attention away from the table drama, but only for a few seconds. When everyone looked back, the entitled woman was red in the face. She had lost her composure, her attempt to look superior was gone.
“This is ridiculous!” she yelled, her voice even louder now, shrill. “I just want a table! My son is upset! You are ruining our day!” She turned to the gentle woman, her eyes wide with what seemed like disbelief that she was not getting her way.
The gentle woman, still with that amazing calm, looked at the screaming child. “I have another pastry in my bag,” she said. “If he wants one, I can get it for him. But I am still using this table.” She opened her bag, reaching inside.
The entitled woman’s mouth opened, as if she could not believe what she was hearing. Her face twisted into a snarl. “I don’t want your charity! I want this table! Get up!” She took a step closer to the table, her body language saying she might just try to move the gentle woman’s things herself.
I saw another person, a man in a bright blue shirt from the coffee stand, take out his phone. He was not calling police, I thought, but probably market security, who sometimes walk around. He looked annoyed, his mouth in a tight line.
Just then, my own phone buzzed loudly in my pocket. It was my sister. I had promised to meet her at the pottery stall to help her pick out a gift for our mother. I looked at the time. I was already a few minutes late. My sister gets annoyed if I am late for special things, and this was important. I knew I had to go. The scene was still unfolding, loud and tense. The entitled woman was still yelling, the gentle woman was still incredibly calm, and the child was still crying.
I took one last look. The gentle woman had pulled out a small, wrapped cookie from her bag, not a pastry, but something for the child. She was holding it out, but the entitled woman was too busy yelling to notice. I felt a real pang of sadness for that gentle woman. She was just trying to have a nice morning, and this entitled person had come to ruin it for her. I hoped she would get to finish her coffee in peace soon.
I turned and walked away, heading quickly towards the pottery stall. The noise of the market swallowed the angry shouts, and soon I could only hear the happy sounds of music and people talking. I never saw how it ended.
