It was a Saturday afternoon, the kind of lazy, sun-drenched day that makes you want to sit outside with a cold drink and watch the world go by. I’d found a perfect little cafe with a few tables spilling out onto the sidewalk. I was halfway through a perfectly chilled iced tea, enjoying the gentle breeze and the distant sounds of the city, when she walked in. Or rather, when she strutted in, holding a small, yappy dog like it was a Fabergé egg.
She was a woman in her late forties, maybe early fifties. Her hair was dyed a rather aggressive shade of blonde, pulled back tightly into a severe ponytail that made her look like she was perpetually surprised. She wore a pink tracksuit that was probably expensive, but looked like it had seen better days, possibly from being worn during an intense game of fetch with said dog. The dog itself was a fluffy white Pomeranian, all over-groomed fluff and a tiny pink bow perched precariously on its head. It was leashed, but barely, the leash looking more like a fashion accessory than a functional tether. She looked like she was on a mission.
My first clue that this wasn’t going to be a peaceful afternoon was the way she immediately surveyed the outdoor seating area. Her eyes scanned past the empty chairs, past the people already settled in, and landed squarely on the table next to mine. That table had a single occupant, a young man engrossed in his phone, headphones clearly blocking out the world. He had a small, empty plate in front of him and was just finishing up. He looked like he was about to get up and leave.
The woman, let’s call her Karen, made a beeline for that table. She didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate, didn’t even look to see if it was actually free. She plopped herself down in the chair, the dog wriggling in her arms, and with a flourish, declared to the empty air, “Oh, this will be perfect, won’t it, Princess Fluffybutt?” The dog offered a pathetic little “yip” in response. I suppressed a smile. Princess Fluffybutt. Of course.
The young man at the table, startled by the sudden pronouncement, looked up. He blinked, taking out his earbuds. “Oh, excuse me,” he said, his voice a little uncertain. “I was just about to leave.” He gestured vaguely at his empty plate. “Finished my lunch.”
Karen waved a dismissive hand, her rings sparkling in the sun. “Yes, yes, I see that. But this table is just what I needed. It’s got the best sun. And it’s right here.” She then proceeded to place the dog, Princess Fluffybutt, onto the table, right next to the empty plate. The dog, with the confidence of a seasoned monarch, immediately began sniffing at the crumbs. It even nudged the plate with its nose.
The young man looked utterly bewildered. “Uh, but… I think the server might be clearing this table. And, well, it’s a bit unhygienic to have a dog on the table…” He trailed off, clearly not wanting to escalate things, but also clearly uncomfortable. He was a skinny guy, probably a student, and he looked like he wanted to disappear.
Karen let out a short, sharp laugh. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Unsanitary? My Princess Fluffybutt is cleaner than most people I know! And as for the server, they can wait. She needs her nap in the sun. She’s been such a good girl.” She patted the dog’s head with exaggerated affection. “She deserves the best spot.”
I watched, my iced tea forgotten. I’d been in this cafe a lot. I’d even served here myself for a summer job a few years back, back when I was saving up for that ridiculously expensive but ultimately useless electric unicycle I still have in my garage. I knew the staff were good people. They worked hard. And they usually kept a pretty tight ship when it came to cleanliness, especially outdoors.
A server, a young woman with kind eyes and a name tag that said “Chloe,” approached the table, a tray with a water pitcher and a glass in her hand. She had a polite, professional smile. “Excuse me, ma’am,” she began, her voice gentle. “Is everything alright?”
Karen’s head snapped up. Her eyes narrowed. “No, it is not alright! This young man,” she pointed at the still-seated young man, who looked like he was contemplating a swift escape through the nearest window, “was sitting here, and now I want this table. And it seems like you’re trying to take it away from me before I’ve even had a chance to order!”
Chloe’s smile faltered slightly, but she maintained her composure. “Ma’am, that gentleman was just finishing his meal. He was about to leave. This table will be cleared and cleaned shortly. Would you like me to get you a different table? We have one available over here, with a lovely view of the park.” She gestured to a table that was clearly just as good, if not better.
Karen scoffed, a dramatic sigh escaping her lips. “A different table? Why should I move? This is the perfect spot! And I don’t want to move my Princess Fluffybutt. She’s finally settled.” She glared at Chloe. “Are you telling me I can’t sit where I want?”
The young man seized his moment. He quickly gathered his phone and stood up, giving Chloe a small, grateful nod. “Thanks,” he mouthed silently. He then practically power-walked away, disappearing into the cafe.
Karen watched him go, a smug look on her face. “See?” she announced to Chloe, as if she had won a great victory. “He left. So this table is mine now. And Princess Fluffybutt is very happy.” She then turned her attention to Chloe, her voice dripping with entitlement. “Now, I need a menu. And a bowl of water for my baby. Filtered, of course. She has a sensitive stomach.”
Chloe, bless her heart, didn’t flinch. She just nodded. “Certainly, ma’am. I’ll get you a menu. And I’ll bring a bowl of water for your dog.” She paused, then added, her voice firm but still polite, “However, health regulations do require that pets remain on the floor. I’m afraid I can’t allow Princess Fluffybutt to stay on the table.”
This was it. The moment the carefully constructed facade of polite negotiation crumbled. Karen’s face turned a shade of puce that clashed spectacularly with her blonde hair. “On the FLOOR?” she shrieked, her voice suddenly loud enough to turn heads at several other tables. “Are you serious? Do you know who I am? My dog is not some common street mutt! She is a pedigree champion! She does not belong on the floor with the common riff-raff!”
Her voice was piercing now. Heads were definitely turning. People were pretending not to look, but their eyes were darting in our direction. Princess Fluffybutt, sensing the drama, let out a series of high-pitched barks, adding to the cacophony.
Chloe’s expression remained neutral, though I could see a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Ma’am, it’s a health code. It applies to all pets. I’m very sorry, but I cannot make an exception.” She placed a menu on the table, careful not to get too close. “If you’d like to order, I can take it here. Otherwise, I will need you to remove your dog from the table.”
Karen stood up abruptly, grabbing Princess Fluffybutt. The dog yipped indignantly. “This is outrageous! I will be speaking to your manager! This establishment clearly has no respect for its patrons, or their beloved companions!” She glared at me, then at the other diners, as if daring anyone to disagree with her. Her face was flushed, her chest heaving.
She began to gather her things, stuffing Princess Fluffybutt into a designer handbag that looked far too small for the dog. “Come on, Princess,” she huffed, her voice still carrying. “We’re leaving this den of indignity. We’ll find somewhere that appreciates true quality and companionship.”
She stormed off, the little pink bow still askew on Princess Fluffybutt’s head, which was now peeking out of the bag, looking rather squashed. She marched past my table, not even glancing my way, her nose in the air. I watched her go, expecting her to stomp back into the cafe to find the manager, or perhaps to make a scene at the counter.
But then, as she reached the edge of the sidewalk, she paused. She turned back, not towards the cafe door, but towards the street. She seemed to be waiting. Waiting for a taxi? Waiting for her chauffeur? I leaned forward, trying to get a better look. The cafe was positioned on a corner, so I could see a good stretch of the street in both directions.
And then, just as I thought I was about to witness the full extent of her dramatic exit, a large delivery truck, the kind that delivers big appliances, rounded the corner at a slightly too-fast speed. It swerved to avoid a parked car, and its large side mirror, a good foot wide, swung out directly into Karen’s path. I didn’t see what happened next. The truck’s bulky side completely blocked my view for a crucial second. When it passed, Karen was gone. Vanished. The spot where she had been standing was empty.
