Last Wednesday would have marked my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary. My grandfather, Walter, passed away two years ago, but my grandmother, Doris, wanted to honor the tradition. She wore the navy blouse and pearl brooch he had given her, visited their favorite restaurant, ordered their usual meal, and left a 20% tip—the most she could spare after saving for bus fare.
Before leaving, the waitress, Jessica, mocked her for tipping “too little” and cruelly remarked about her being “alone at her age.” My grandmother walked home in tears. The next day, she confided in me. I decided Jessica needed to understand, not through rage or social media, but face-to-face.
I reserved a table and specifically requested Jessica as our server. My friend Jules, a photographer, came too. We ordered generously, keeping Jessica confident about a big tip. At dessert, I handed her an envelope filled with napkins bearing messages: “You should be ashamed,” “She’s a widow, not a wallet.” I calmly explained her cruelty.
The manager later emailed, apologizing and confirming Jessica no longer worked there. That weekend, Grandma returned to her booth, decorated with flowers, and smiled—a real smile—feeling Walter close once more.
