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Should Be As Easy As Pie To Explain

, , , , , | Working | April 25, 2014

(My mom and I are eating dinner at a country-style restaurant that features homemade desserts. I’m in my mid-twenties. We have been getting along great with our waitress all evening.)

Waitress: “So, any dessert tonight?”

Mom: “I’d like a piece of strawberry pie to go, please.”

Waitress: “Sure! And you?”

Me: “None for me, thanks.”

Waitress: “Are you sure? We have chocolate and lemon meringue tonight, too.”

Me: “No, thank you.”

Waitress: *winking at me* “Tell ya what? I’m going to box you up a piece of the strawberry, too, on the house for being such great customers.”

Me: “Wait, I’m a diabetic. That’s why I don’t want dessert. But thank you for the offer. That’s really nice.”

Waitress: “You’re a diabetic?”

Me: “Yes.”

Waitress: *to my mom* “Is she really a diabetic?”

Mom: “Yes. So that’s just one piece of strawberry pie to go and then the check, please. We’d better get going.”

Waitress: “You can’t be a diabetic. You’re skinny!”

Me: *Pause* “Well, I am. I was diagnosed five years ago.”

Waitress: “Were you fat before you were a diabetic?”

(I am visibly uncomfortable. I don’t mind discussing my health, but I prefer not to with total strangers. My mom notices and squeezes my hand under the table.)

Mom: *very calmly* “We’ll have the check now, please.”

Waitress: *to my mom* “Does she just have an eating disorder?”

Mom: “No, and to be honest, we prefer not to discuss this any longer. I just want the check.”

Waitress: “Are you mad? I was only asking. No need to get mad.”

(She leaves to get the check and the manager comes over.)

Manager: “How was everything, ladies?”

Mom: “Our food was great, and I hate to say this because our waitress was great all evening, but you may need to talk to her about appropriate conversations with customers. My daughter has a medical condition and our waitress pushed a little too hard and asked some personal questions.”

Manager: “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. I’ve never gotten any complaints about her before but I will talk to her.”

(He reassures us that it will never happen again. We pay the check and get up to leave when the manager comes back with two to-go boxes.)

Manager: “Ladies, I’m sorry you had a bad experience, so I wanted you each to have a piece of chocolate pie on the house.”

Mom: *heavy sigh* “Thank you. My daughter can’t have dessert, but we’ll take the other piece to her father.”

(The manager is flustered and tries to offer us something different, but we just want to go. As we are walking to the door, the waitress walks by.)

Waitress: “That’s chocolate pie! I knew you weren’t a diabetic!”

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