Hot And Not Bothering To Listen

(My family and I are enjoying a nice dinner out to celebrate the end of my chemotherapy and my recovery from bone marrow cancer. I have been cancer free for several weeks, but I still bear unmistakeable signs of having received chemotherapy. The restaurant we have chosen is very warm, and I am wearing a hooded sweatshirt.)

Waitress: “What are you doing! You’re making me hot just looking at you! Take that sweater off!”

Me: “If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’d rather leave it on.”

Waitress: “It’s at least 80 in here! Take it off! Is you crazy!?”

Me: “As I said, I’d rather leave it on, and I’d appreciate it if we didn’t discuss this so loudly.”

(Suddenly, the waitress marches over to me, RIPS the sweater over my head, and reveals that my left arm is full of grotesque bruises. She then casts my parents a filthy look, assuming the worst.)

Waitress: “What the h*** you doin’ to this boy? Look at them bruises!”

Me: “Please, you’re humiliating me. I think we should go.”

Waitress: “I’m going to have you investigated by child services!”

(My family and I decide to leave, but incredibly the waitress follows us out to the parking lot to see the license plate number of the car we’re getting in. We reported the waitress, but the manager only said the waitress did what she was supposed to do!)