I was with a gang from high school in a theater. There were many seats. I was wearing a light beige woolen sweater. Basically all the people I had studied in high school were there, and also Marianne, my only friend and ally in the middle of all those people. As we were in a group, the feeding part was pure torment. There was a kind of diner in front of the theater, but it was also part of it. The theater goers would, inevitably, end up consuming in that place. The problem was that my group had done a deal package with the owner of the diner: US$ 40 for all you can eat. There were pancakes, wraps, muffins and other things of the sort. The thing was that nothing was to my taste and I decided to talk to one of the attendants to know more. The pancake flavor that I wanted was not in stock and I had to content myself with another one that I didn’t really like. Meanwhile, my colleagues were eating a lot and I had been the only one to complain. I felt the disapproving looks of everyone on me as I went in and out of the theater, and walked to my place by the hallway. The movie was almost over when I decided to get a sweet pancake, because I couldn’t decide on a savory one.
I walked to the counter and a tall boy served me. There was another boy behind me in line. The diner attendant served me really ill and made stupid sexist jokes – something about me not knowing how to pick a pancake flavor indicating that as a typical woman, I couldn’t pick anything in life. And then instead of ordering my pancake to the kitchens, he simply forgot about me and served the order of the boy who was behind me in line! I complained and only received more stupid jokes like “wussy pussy” or something of the kind.
In the end, the students were all leaving the place and I had already decided I wouldn’t pay the 40 dollars of the check. I tried to get out very stealthily, along with Marianne, but the people from the diner didn’t let us. They literally locked the door with us inside to prevent me from leaving without paying the bill. I made a scandal and called for the manager. I said the service was terrible, that I hadn’t eaten almost anything, and that I was offended by the sexist attendant. The idiot attendant wasn’t even there anymore, the new ones were much nicer, so I felt a bit bad about it all. But the manager was a man in the molds of a Don Corleone – a tall, large man with intimidating eyes and persuasive talk. I stepped my foot down regarding the service I had received in the diner, but I had to agree with the Godfather that the fact I couldn’t enjoy my 40 dollars in pancakes was my problem, not theirs. Even so, I cried for a discount. In the end I had to pay half of the check value and promise I wouldn’t follow through with my threat of complaining about the place on social media. I was completely defeated and only Marianne stayed by my side.
The Famous Warrior 