I’ll Have The Crab Benedict, Hold The Side Order of Prejudice!

 DINING OUT WHILE DIFFERENT

On a family outing to a restaurant I had never visited before, I didn’t expect much — just the basics. A decent dinner, some easy-going conversation, and the kind of civility from the staff that makes you feel like a welcome guest rather than a burden. That’s not asking for too much, right? The place had the kind of ambiance that tries to soothe you into patience: soft lighting, murmured jazz in the background. But it couldn’t mask the signs of a restaurant under strain. Clearly understaffed, the tension in the air was almost tangible.

The greeter managed a well-rehearsed smile, mechanical, yet polite. The hostess followed suit, her gestures smooth, her tone practiced. But our waiter… well, he was another story. He wore his armor of anxiety like a warrior suited up but not ready for battle. The poor guy did his best to provide good service. On this family outing, enjoying a good comfort meal with an ounce of respect seemed to be too much to ask for — and all I wanted was to have my Crab Benedict. Instead, what I got was a side order of prejudice!

It’s All Too Familiar

Manager at an upscale restaurant tells employee to use ‘judgement’ based on the patrons

"Services that cater to the public are not immune to individuals expressing their own personal prejudices within the establishments where they work — which, in turn, becomes a disservice to the public."

When I walked into the restaurant, I felt the familiar tension rising within me. It’s a strange sensation that I’ve come to recognize over the years — a mix of anticipation and dread. I’ve learned to expect it in public spaces, where the gaze of strangers can sometimes feel like a spotlight, highlighting every aspect of my identity that might not conform to their expectations. Two restaurant employees made it clear that they viewed my family as inferior compared to their own sense of superiority. They didn’t accomplish this by being outwardly aggressive, but by dropping subtle hints that suggested our family was not welcome at their establishment. The first employee, I wasn’t sure of her position, since she wasn’t in uniform. After we were seated, I noticed her visiting other tables and greeting customers with a big smile. She walked past our table twice without a single acknowledgment, and at first I didn’t think much of it. But by the third time around, I noticed she carried on pleasant conversations with families at other tables in our section. Once again, she walked past our table without acknowledging us. Then, suddenly, she turned back around, walked toward our table with a phony smile stretched across her face, and said, “Hi, I didn’t see you guys. I hope you all are enjoying your visit so far.” I matched her phony disposition with my own and replied, “That remains to be seen. Have a nice day!” She walked away still wearing that strange smile of hers… but as it turned out, this individual would soon be the least of my concerns.

With His ‘Tight-Little Man’ Suit

Assistant manager of a restaurant turns up his nose while walking past patrons

Then he comes waltzing in from the back of the restaurant into the dining area, wearing his tight blue suit and pink tie. His nose was turned so far up in the air, I was surprised he could still place one foot in front of the other without tripping over his own pride. At first, I didn’t think much of this “little man.” I figured he was just another stuck-up individual whose clothes were two sizes too small for his frame. But before long, I noticed he was doing the same thing as the female employee — purposefully walking past our table without a word, while stopping to speak with every other customer at their tables. I ignored what my instincts were telling me about this little man, because I could swear this is the year 2025, not 1955. But I quickly realized America has a knack for repeating certain aspects of history, and with that, I knew my instincts were right. 

Another family soon arrived to be seated, and just as expected, the “little man” went out of his way to ignore them as well. Even when one of them attempted to get his attention, he waltzed right past without any acknowledgment. After witnessing this, I asked the waiter clearing the table across from us, “Who is that little man with the tight blue suit?” He replied, “That’s the assistant manager.” So I learned who the “little man” was and his position. His name is… well, I’ll refer to him as “Little Jon.” I ordered the Crab Benedict — delicious, by the way — but I kept my eye on Little Jon and his selective perception of those he deemed worthy of his so-called superior presence. I devised a plan: the next time he waltzed past our table with his nose in the air, his prejudice routine would be temporarily disrupted. Sitting at the edge of the booth, I used my position to my advantage. When Little Jon waltzed past again, I quickly and firmly grabbed his right arm and asked, “What is your name?” He replied, “John.” He turned hastily and walked away. All I saw was a blur of that tight blue suit. Moments later, while eating my dessert, Little Jon appeared at our table with a forced smile. “Did you fine people enjoy your meals?” he asked. My family and I looked straight at him with daggers in our eyes, barely saying a word. I returned his fake smile, looked him dead in the eye, and said nothing — because sometimes words aren’t needed to express how you feel. With his tight little suit, he walked away with a puzzled look on his face, not knowing what to make of our response. 

Leaving the restaurant, a feeling of contentment filled the air around me, knowing I had psychologically disrupted the behavioral pattern of Little Jon and his prejudiced mannerisms. It was a reminder to people like Little Jon that people like me exist, that we have always existed in this space, and we’re not going anywhere anytime soon!