On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 22

This happens during my first week on the job as a food runner for [Restaurant]. I’ve just delivered some meals to a table in the bar and am checking if they want anything else. I feel someone poke me, hard, in the ribs. I yelp in pain and shock, spinning around to see a couple on the next table over. The man starts loudly complaining at me, oblivious to my startled scream.

Customer: “My food is cold!”

He holds the plate out to me. It’s a partially-eaten gammon steak, with a couple of wet mouthfuls of chewed food piled next to it. Other people’s saliva deeply grosses me out, and I can’t help but flinch away from the plate. He shoves it closer and all but yells in my face.

Customer: “Touch it! Feel how cold this food is!”

I am pointedly ignoring his request while trying to recover my composure.

Me: “I‘m so sorry that’s happened! Here, let me take that. Would you like me to get the chefs to make you a fresh one?”

Customer: *Accusingly* “You don’t believe me, do you?! I’m not making this up!”

Me: *Desperately* “I do believe you, I promise, can I just—”

I moved to take the plate from him, and he GRABBED MY WRIST and forcibly smooshed my hand into the chewed food. I don’t remember anything about whether it was actually cold or not; it took all the concentration I had to not throw up in my mouth.

Related:
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 21
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 20
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 19
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 18
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 17