She laughed. “Chocolate lava cake!”
That night, as I sat in front of a camera for the local news, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. But as I started describing the awful treatment I’d endured, my voice grew stronger.
“No one should be treated like that,” I said, looking straight into the camera lens. “It’s not about the money. It’s about basic respect.”
The news station aired Nadine’s footage, blurring the Thompsons’ faces, letting their behavior speak for itself.
By the next morning, the story was everywhere. Social media was abuzz with comments. Some people praised my patience, while others condemned the family’s actions.
Our restaurant’s page was flooded with messages of support, and customers started pouring in. I should have been elated, but the whole thing still felt like a dream, like it was happening to someone else.
Then, just when I thought things might start to calm down, the Thompsons showed up.
It was during the lunch rush. Mr. Thompson stormed in, his face red, finger pointed directly at me. “Where’s your manager?” he roared.
Mr. Caruso emerged from behind the counter, looking as calm as ever. “Sir, how can I assist you?” he asked.
“You released that footage! It’s defamation! My wife and I are being harassed, and we’re ready to sue! We’ll press charges too! Take it down right now and retract what that lazy waitress said!”
Mr. Caruso folded his arms, a sly smile on his lips. “Sir, the news story didn’t show your face or your name. So, feel free to call the police. But that would mean admitting that it was your family who skipped out on an $850 bill. Would you like me to make the call?”
Mr. Thompson faltered, looking around as other customers pulled out their phones to record. His mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water.
Mrs. Thompson stepped closer, tugging at his sleeve. “Let’s just pay and leave,” she hissed through clenched teeth.