It was Labor Day Weekend and my friends and I planned a trip to Zion. Expecting there to be over 20,000 people and a possible storm, we were pleasantly surprised to be some of the only visitors, greeted with blue skies. We hiked the Narrows, swam in the river and enjoyed quality time together. It had been a fantastic day, but we needed some food to top it all off. In-N-out was the popular vote in the group, and we set out for what we imagined to be a peacefully greasy dinner.
Oh, how we were mistaken.
As we pulled into the restaurant, there was a noticeable line in the drive-thru and the parking lot was full. Although the workers moved quickly, there was absolutely no indoor seating big enough for our group of eight. After getting our burgers and animal-style fries, we decided to split up into smaller groups, squishing ourselves into two separate booths.
Besides for the lack of salt on the french fries (the only downside to In-N-Out), the meal was splendid. We ate quickly and then gathered by one booth before heading back home in our separate cars.
While waiting for a few friends to get out of the bathroom, I leaned against another booth, talking to my brother over the loud noises of the restaurant. A woman, whose face I didn’t see, bumped me from behind on accident and made a quick apology.
“Sorry,” she said.
“No worries,” I replied, quickly forgetting it even happened.
Once our friends returned from the bathroom, we started to head out of the glass doors. Before I could grab the handle, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a woman I didn’t recognize. She looked to be in her mid-50s, wearing a baseball cap and neon blue shirt. Perhaps she had been hiking all day too. Expecting she was going to ask me to pick something up for her or compliment something I was wearing, I smiled.
Because she was significantly shorter than me, she asserted her dominance by raising her right hand in the air, pointing at my face.
“The reason I bumped into you was because your butt was in my face and I couldn’t get out of the booth. I said ‘excuse me’ and you didn’t move,” she said.
“Oh, I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t hear you. I’m really sorry,” I said, expecting her to back off when she realized that I just made a mistake. But once again, I was wrong.
“Listen, I know you’re from a younger generation, but you could at least show some courtesy,” she snapped back.
Let’s break that down for a minute:
- This woman is assuming that because I am a millennial I would intentionally want to keep her trapped in this booth. She doesn’t assume that I’m just a rude person, she thinks my generation has influenced me to hold her hostage at the St.George In-N-Out.
- According to her, I am not showing courtesy because I couldn’t hear her saying “excuse me.” She, on the other hand, who took time out of her evening to find me and publically get angry about a small inconvenience, is the mature adult in the situation. Incredible.
Anyway, back to the scene: My brother then stepped in and reminded the woman that if I could have heard her, I would have moved. A very rational point to make. (Thanks, Nick.)
While still pointing her finger aggressively, she loudly exclaims, “I’m not talking to you! I said ‘excuse me’ and tapped her on the back and she wouldn’t move.”
At that moment, I imagined a full physical tussle breaking out. French fries would be thrown, her dumb baseball cap smashed on the grease-stained floor. I could have taken her. I’m scrappy.
But instead, I remained perfectly calm and turned around to walk away. Quite mature and courteous, if you ask me. After a rage-filled drive home, followed by an angry phone call to my dad, I calmed down.
Anyway, I’m not holding grudges. Clearly it didn’t affect me enough to write an entire article about it. It’s fine. Everything is fine.
Story by: Amanda Walton
Photo Courtesy of unsplash.com