Let me introduce myself: I’m Violet, and I’m about to share a story that’s as surprising as it is enlightening. Imagine a simple dinner outing with my grandpa transforming into a memorable evening that taught a presumptuous waitress a lesson she’s unlikely to forget. Stick around; you don’t want to miss the twist in this tale!
A bit of context first: I’m an only child and the sole granddaughter on my mother’s side. Naturally, I received a lot of attention and affection growing up, especially from my grandparents.
My grandmother, whom I affectionately call Grams, and my grandpa, known as Pop-Pop, have been pivotal figures in my life. Pop-Pop, who celebrated his 66th birthday last month, is genuinely the kindest soul I know.
Despite his tough exterior—a typical grandfatherly facade—his heart is incredibly tender, a side he reserves for close friends and family. I’m fortunate to be one of the few who sees this.
Pop-Pop, of Chinese-American descent, speaks fluent English with a distinct American accent. He’s an avid reader, enjoys golf, and is known among us for his exceptional sense of humor and legendary pranks.
Last weekend, we decided to try a newly opened restaurant in town. Pop-Pop loves exploring new eateries and is always eager for a culinary adventure, so these outings are a regular treat for us.
We settled into a cozy spot at this chic, modern-decorated restaurant, choosing a table by the window to people-watch. The menu was intriguing, promising a night of delightful culinary experiments.
However, our experience took a turn when our waitress approached. Her demeanor was dismissive, and her tone condescending, as if doubting our ability to understand English. She leaned over and spoke slowly, “DO YOU NEED ANYTHING?”
Pop-Pop’s eyes sparkled with mischief, yet he remained composed. He replied in a loud, exaggerated “Asian” accent, “YES. I NEED HELP WITH THE MENU.”
I stifled a laugh, but the waitress was not amused. Under her breath, she muttered, “Ugh, Chinese geezer,” thinking we hadn’t heard. But we had.
A brief flash of anger crossed Pop-Pop’s face, quickly replaced by that familiar mischievous glint. He dramatically adjusted his glasses and asked, “Can you explain the menu to us? Dish by dish, drink by drink, dessert by dessert?”
Reluctantly, the waitress began describing the items. “This is the calamari: fried squid. This is the house salad: mixed greens with a vinaigrette…”
