It started as a normal dinner.
We sat down, opened the menus, and before we even touched the water, the waiter was there—face tight, voice sharp.
“Switch tables.”
I looked at the empty seats around us. “Why?”
He didn’t explain. He just pointed. “Now.”
We moved. Not because we wanted to, but because he made it public—loud enough that people nearby turned to watch.
From that moment, he treated us like we were in his way.
The food was fine. The service wasn’t.
When the check came, he didn’t place it on the table.
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