For half an hour, she picked at her food and complained to her phone. The lettuce was wilted. It wasn’t. The chicken was dry. It wasn’t. She ate most of it anyway.
When I brought the check, she twisted her mouth. “One hundred and twelve dollars? For this?”
“Yes, ma’am. You had the salad, two sides, the dessert sampler, and three drinks.”
She turned to her phone. “They’re trying to overcharge me. This is ridiculous.” Then she looked at me. “You’ve been rude this entire time. You ruined the vibe. I’m not paying for disrespect.”
I hadn’t raised my voice once.
Before I could respond, she grabbed her bag, smiled into her phone, and said, “I’m out of here. This place doesn’t deserve my money or my platform.”
She walked out and left the bill on the table.
I watched the door close. And I smiled.
Because she had picked the wrong granny.
I went straight to my manager, Danny. “That woman walked out on a hundred-and-twelve-dollar bill.”
He sighed. “It happens, Esther. We’ll comp it.”
“No, sir.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I’m not letting her get a free meal because she threw a tantrum on camera.”
I turned to Simon, one of the younger servers. “You got a bike, boy?”
He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. We’re going after her.”
Simon laughed. “Looks like she picked the wrong grandma.”
He took off down Main Street with me on the back. I spotted Sabrina right away, still livestreaming, still talking.
I leaned out and called, clear as day, “Ma’am! You didn’t pay your one hundred and twelve dollar bill!”
She froze. Her phone swung around. People stopped and stared.
“This is harassment!” she snapped.
“No, sweetheart. This is collections.”
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