When Nate’s grandparents want to celebrate their anniversary with a fancy dinner at a local restaurant, his grandmother goes in to choose which items she’d like from the table. But one thing leads to another when she knocks over a plate — causing her to be kicked out. But Nate plots his revenge.
It was supposed to be a simple visit — a grandmother checking on the quality of meals at a local restaurant for her upcoming 50th wedding anniversary dinner with her husband and their immediate family.
Yet, what unfolded for my grandmother was nothing short of disrespectful and heartbreaking.
My grandparents were set to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary in a week. My grandmother wanted to have a grand family dinner, and wanting everything to be perfect, she decided to visit the restaurant alone to finalize the menu and taste a few dishes for the dinner, including a special request for meatloaf.
“Meatloaf?” my mother asked her. “Why would you want meatloaf for your fancy dinner?”
“Because it’s sentimental, Penny,” my grandmother said, smiling. “Your father and I had meatloaf on our first date, and it’s been one of the constant things in our marriage.”
“Meatloaf Mondays,” my mother chuckled. “It’s been there throughout my childhood.”
“Do you want me to come with you, Gran?” I asked her, because I wasn’t sure about my 72-year-old grandmother tackling the world by herself. As much as my grandmother prided herself on her good health, sometimes she needed help balancing herself.
“No, Nate,” she said. “I’ll be fine! And this way, during the dinner you can be surprised, too.”
On the day that my grandmother was ready to go on her sampling tour of the restaurant, I dropped her off and went back home to work.
“You tell the restaurant to call me when you’re ready, okay?” I said, closing the passenger door for her.
I went about my day, only to receive a call from my grandmother about two hours later. She was in tears and completely devastated.
I drove to the restaurant immediately.
It turned out that when she went into the restaurant and ordered the items that she wanted to try — the table, naturally, became quite full.
As Gran was trying to position herself, her elbow hit the table, causing one of the plates to fall off and crash to the ground, shattering.
Instead of assisting, the waiter on duty let frustration get the better of him and he lashed out. He berated my grandmother and called her an “old hag”.
“Who let an old hag like you into this restaurant?” he asked, while picking up the larger pieces of the shattered plate. “Look at this mess. And the lunch rush will be here soon, too.”
When my grandmother got to the car, she was shaking, tears running down her face as she tried to tell me what had happened.
“I’ve never felt worse,” she mumbled. “It was just a mistake, Nate. I asked if they needed to charge me for the plate, but the waiter just laughed. And he told me to leave.”
As I drove, I was speechless. I didn’t know what to say, or how to
