Grandma’s Revenge
MY GRANDMOTHER, SEVENTY-TWO YEARS OLD, WAS EXPELLED FROM THE DINER BY A SERVER – HIS FACE LOST ITS COLOR WHEN SHE CAME BACK A FEW DAYS LATER TO GIVE HIM A PIECE OF HER MIND. GRANDMOTHER BETTY RESOLVED TO INDULGE HERSELF AT A NEARBY EATERY. ALL WAS PROCEEDING SMOOTHLY UNTIL SHE UNINTENTIONALLY UPSET A SERVING OF MEATLOAF.
THE SERVER SNAPPED AT HER, “IF YOU ARE ONLY GOING TO PURCHASE A SINGLE ITEM, WE DO NOT ACCOMMODATE INEPTITUDE HERE. SIMPLY DEPART!” THE UNFORTUNATE GRANDMOTHER RETURNED HOME COMPLETELY DISTURBED, WITH WET EYES, BUT OH, SHE WAS DETERMINED TO RECTIFY THE SITUATION.
A WEEK LATER, AND THERE SHE GOES, BACK TO THE EATERY, ADORNED IN LAVISH ATTIRE, HER HAIR PERFECTLY COIFFED, HER EYES GLEAMING WITH A SCHEME. SHE ENTERS, AND THE SERVER……ENTERS, AND THE SERVER, RECOGNIZING HER INSTANTLY, FREEZES. HE SUDDENLY REMEMBERS HIS RUDENESS AND STIFFENS, A NERVOUS SMILE FAINTLY APPEARING ON HIS FACE. Betty, with a regal air, strides towards the counter, not even glancing at the server who wronged her.
Instead, she addresses a different, younger server, her voice clear and resonant, “My dear, I would like to order… a very large quantity of your meatloaf. For a party, you see.”
The young server, eager to please such a distinguished-looking lady, beams, “Certainly! How many servings would you require, madam?”
Betty pauses dramatically, pulling out a small, elegant notepad and a gold pen. “Let me see… for my bridge club, and then the ladies from my gardening society, and oh yes, the book club too. And of course, I can’t forget my family… Perhaps, let’s start with… fifty servings?”
The young server’s eyes widen slightly, but she diligently starts writing. The rude server, meanwhile, is practically choking on air behind the counter, his face alternating between pale and crimson. He watches as Betty continues to list off items – dozens of pies, gallons of coffee, and a mountain of side dishes, all with the same air of casual extravagance.
Finally, Betty concludes her order, “And please, ensure it is all impeccably packaged. I expect to collect it tomorrow afternoon. Oh, and one more thing,” she turns, finally fixing her gaze on the rude server, who flinches under her steady look, “ensure *he*,” she gestures pointedly with her pen, “is not involved in preparing or serving my order. His… *ineptitude*, as he so eloquently put it, might spoil the entire affair.”
Betty pays a substantial deposit with a flourish, leaving the rude server speechless and humiliated. The next day, as promised, she returns with a convoy of her friends, all dressed in their finest, to collect her massive order. The entire diner watches in stunned silence as they load boxes upon boxes into waiting cars.
As Betty is about to leave, she turns back to the now thoroughly chastened rude server, who is cowering behind the counter. She smiles sweetly, “You see, young man,” she says, her voice carrying just enough for everyone to hear, “Grandmothers may be seventy-two, but they are never inept. And they always, *always* get their meatloaf.” With a wink and a final regal nod, Grandmother Betty departs, leaving the diner buzzing with admiration and the rude server contemplating a serious career change.