Several weeks ago my husband, Rick, and I ate at a restaurant we frequent fairly regularly. The cute, young waitress who usually waits on us took our orders for burgers and fries. I’ll call her Mandy. As usual Mandy’s smile and bubbly personality brightened our day. We giggled and confessed to her that we shouldn’t eat the fries, but we were going to do it just this once. She joked. “Okay, you’re being bad today.” Not long after we got our food a couple came in and sat in the booth behind us. Mandy walked up to the table with her big grin. “Hi, how are you?” she asked. The man, who had salt and pepper colored hair and a pudgy face, spoke in a harsh tone, “I want the steak.” “Sure, which one would you like?” Mandy asked. “I don’t want you to put it in the microwave. That will make it tough. Do you understand?” Mandy’s lips turned down. “Yes sir, which one do you want to order?” “I want it medium rare. I don’t want blood oozing out of it. I want it cooked right.” “Yes sir, which steak di
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