Last Wednesday marked my grandparents’ 50th anniversary. My grandma Doris, now widowed, honored the date as always—dressed in the blouse and brooch my late grandfather gave her—by dining alone at their favorite restaurant.
She saved just enough for the bus, ordered their usual meal, and left a modest 20% tip. But her server, Jessica, mocked her for dining alone and ridiculed her “small” tip. Humiliated, my grandma walked home in tears.
The next day, she told me what happened. I wasn’t looking for revenge—I just wanted Jessica to understand the impact of her cruelty.
So I returned to that restaurant with a friend, made sure Jessica was our server, and played the part of a generous customer. After dessert, I handed her an envelope filled with napkins bearing words my grandma couldn’t say: “You should be ashamed.” “She is not a wallet; she is a widow.”
Then I calmly told her the full story. I didn’t yell. I didn’t need to.
Whether she changes or not, Jessica will never again be able to claim she didn’t know the harm she caused.
