From Bully To Beloved

Sera

Monday night unfolds in a quaint Queens diner, the clock ticking past 7:00 p. m.

“Come closer, baby doll,” the jerk taunts Kelly at a nearby table.

A confrontation isn’t on my agenda, but witnessing him grab Kelly’s ass ignites my fury.

Unapologetic, he smirks when caught. I march toward them, enraged.

“What’s the matter, sugar?” he mocks, realizing he’s flustered her.

“S-Sir, you can’t…”

“I’m sorry-what was that?” he interrupts, reveling in her discomfort.

I’ve had enough. The customer isn’t always right.

Standing beside Kelly, I unleash my indignation. “Hey, prick. You can’t grope the waitresses. It’s not that kind of diner.”

He sneers, giving me a disdainful look, contrasting with Kelly’s deer-in-the-headlights expression.

Kelly, tall and neat, contrasts my short, curvy self. Tonight, she’s handled a challenging customer, enduring his inappropriate comments with poise. Now, he’s crossed the line.

“Out. Now,” I declare with calm authority.

“What are you accusing me of?” he retorts.

“Don’t play dumb. I saw you touch her,” I respond, unfazed.

“I did no such thing,” he claims, feigning innocence.

“Your hand just happened to be level with her backside and making a grabbing motion?”

“Is it a crime to have my hand resting at my side?” he argues.

“No, but it’s a crime to touch someone without their consent,” I assert, positioning myself protectively in front of Kelly.

He challenges me, demanding to speak to the supervisor. Little does he know, as the most senior employee, I hold that position.

I eagerly anticipate the look on his face when he realizes his ploy won’t work.

I position my hands on the table, leaning in, and calmly state, “I am the supervisor. I must ask you to leave the premises.”

Hoping a more condescending tone will convey my authority, I retaliate against his insolence. He questions my role, snapping at Kelly for confirmation.

Kelly weakly nods, yet disbelief lingers in the man’s expression.

Fed up, I decide to prove who’s in control. I backhand one of his beer bottles, spilling its contents across his lap. As he jolts back, I sweetly utter, “Oops.”

His face reddens, attracting attention from other patrons. Backhanding more bottles, I repeat, “Oops,” less sweetly. The man protests, accusing me of intent.

With satisfaction, I order him out, pointing to the door. Kelly mentions he hasn’t paid yet.

I turn, take the slip from her, and he scoffs, climbing out of the booth. A beer stain on his lap adds to his humiliation. When he claims he won’t pay, I’m ready to retaliate, but Officer Marco, a regular NYPD customer, intervenes.

“Is there a problem here, Sera?” Officer Marco inquires sternly.

I swiftly inform him about the groping incident, and Mr. Suit attempts to exit without settling his bill. I place the receipt on the table, urging him to pay. Reluctantly, he drops cash and leaves.

Once he’s gone, I turn to Kelly, ensuring she’s okay. Officer Marco offers support, asking if she wants to press charges, but she declines.

With relief, I hug Kelly, and Officer Marco returns to his meal. I grab a slice of apple pie, brightening his mood and acknowledging his assistance.

I guide Kelly toward the back, signaling other waitresses to take our tables. The kitchen buzzes with activity, and Deacon, our lively head chef, notices us. I gesture for him to prepare something for Kelly, and he obliges.

In Marie’s cramped makeshift office, I settle Kelly, assuring her to take all the time she needs. Despite her concern about the tables, I dismiss it, promising that Daphne and others can handle them.

She expresses disbelief at people’s behavior, and I refrain from commenting, understanding her kind nature. Deacon brings in a comforting chocolate lava cake with vanilla ice cream.This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

“You’re my bestie. You know I’d kick anybody in the nuts for you,” I reassure her. Despite my years in waitressing, Kelly’s good-natured innocence still surprises me.

Deacon’s thoughtful gesture of providing Kelly’s favorite treat lightens the mood. I encourage her to take deep breaths and enjoy the treat before heading back out.

As Kelly eats, she asks about my upcoming “meeting.” I admit I have a few minutes, assuring her it’s not urgent. We discuss Mrs. Ashton, reminiscing about her, and I express how much I miss her.

Kelly encourages me to go to the meeting, assuring me she’ll be fine. Despite her reassurance, the real reason I’m hesitant is the thought of seeing him again.