Men In Their Fifties Talking Like It’s The Fifties

(I am seventeen, waitressing for a small-town restaurant run by a family. The only people that work there besides me are the two male owners and their four sons of various ages. I am the only girl. It’s a really small town, full of older people, so I often am requested just because I am female, or given winks and stuff from older gentlemen, which I normally just ignore.)

Male Customer: *in his late 50s* “Nice legs. When do they open?”

(I then “accidentally” spill hot coffee on his leg.)

Me: “Oh! I’m so sorry; let me get you a towel.”

(I run to the back while listening to the guy start cursing loudly in the dining room. Both owners and all the brothers come over and ask what happened. I explain, and they all drop what they are doing and go out to the dining room to the customer. They crowd around him and then tell him to get out. They tell him that they don’t care about what I did because he deserved it.)

My Next Table: “Wow. You must be the sister.”

Me: “Nope.”

(I love that family.)