My grandparents were set to celebrate their 50th anniversary. Wanting everything perfect, my grandmother visited the restaurant alone to taste the menu—including a sentimental request for meatloaf, which she and my grandfather had on their first date.
While sampling dishes, she accidentally knocked over a plate. Instead of helping, the waiter berated her, calling her an “old hag” and kicking her out. She was devastated when I picked her up, barely able to speak through her tears. I was furious but kept calm. What she didn’t know was—I had a connection to the restaurant. I was about to become its new owner. A few days later, she tried to cancel the dinner. I convinced her to stick with the original plan.
On the night of the celebration, our family gathered at the same restaurant. My grandmother’s face fell when she recognized the waiter—but the staff now knew who I was. Service was flawless.
