The Kids Were More Polite Than Their Parents
In high school, I worked as a waitress at a pizza place. The manager would hire mentally challenged people to wash dishes and bus tables during the weekends. One weekend, we were swamped, and things were getting a bit crazy. A woman with four or five kids was sitting close to the waitress station.
It wasn’t my table, but I could tell she looked angry. One of the mentally challenged workers was busing tables and walked by her. The woman grabbed the worker’s arm and swung her around. She yelled at her for not bringing out the appetizer or something.
I walked over to the woman, told her that the woman was not one of the wait staff members, and asked what I could get for her. Her reaction shocked me. She then got out of her chair, called the worker a name, and walked off. I was speechless. I felt horrible.
I don’t think the woman knew what she had just said. Then one of the woman’s children told me, “Sorry about my mommy. She is mean.” I told her, “It’s not your fault,” and patted her on the head.
The woman came back, grabbed her kids and coat, and left. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to tell the woman that her daughter was more grown-up than she was.