Put Yourself In The Shadow Of The Colossus
It is a slow late evening on a weekday. The burger joint is nearly empty, save for some lonely people and four loud, drunk twenty-somethings. I check the time and realize that one of our regulars will come soon. He is very autistic but likes to eat here because “the food is consistently a seven out of ten, the lights are soft enough, and many of you know what I want so I don’t have to speak” as he once so succinctly put it. He is really nice, he always cleans the table after himself, and if it is close enough to closing time, he INSISTS that he must sweep the floor. The burger he wants hasn’t been on the menu for some years, but we make it for him anyway.
The regular wants to sit in the same booth and eat the same burger at the same time if at all possible. The four drunks sit in his booth, so I go over there (after some deliberation) to politely ask them to switch tables.
Me: “Hello. Sorry to bother you.”
Drunk Woman #1: “Arye closin’?”
Me: “No, not at all. We have a… special customer who really likes to sit in this booth. Could I politely ask you to switch to the table next to you?”
Drunk Woman #2: “Ooh! A speshal? Well, I have a brother like that. We, we’ll, we’ll move.”
The three women and one man move to a different booth. I clean after them and take my place behind the till. I notice that the drunk man seems quite annoyed by the move, and I hear a hushed discussion between them. He seems more and more agitated until he roars:
Drunk Man: “What, you think I am not man enough?”
Drunk Woman #2: “No, no, not at all.”
Drunk Man: “Yeah! I’ll show you!”
Drunk Woman #2: “No, please…”
And he stands up, wobbles over to me (a short, skinny woman) and screams:
Drunk Man: “What the f*** gives you the right to move us? You b****!”
Me: “Sorry, sir, I am sorry if I…”
Drunk Man: “You ugly b****! How dare you talk to me like that? I’ll f*****—”
And then he is interrupted by a deep, monotone voice behind him. The regular, a more than two-meter-tall colossus who comes here after his evening workout, has arrived. His voice is flat, his face is unreadable, and his eyes are fixed slightly above the drunk’s head. He looks roughly strong enough to tie knots in an anvil.
Colossus: “Why are you yelling?”
Drunk Man: “Um… well…”
Colossus: “Why are you yelling at [My Name]?”
Drunk Man: “I… Hey, man, don’t interrupt! I’m just… Yeah! You wanna, you wanna fight me?”
Colossus: “Fight? You?”
Drunk Man: “Yeah?”
Colossus: *Scoffs* “How could I do that?”
The regular actually asks, “Do you want to have a verbal debate or a physical altercation?”, but it comes across as “It won’t be a fight; it will be a murder.” The drunk goes pale, realizes that he weighs roughly less than half of the arm of the colossus, and takes off. His female friends go after him after a while.
Me: “Thank you!”
Colossus: “Okay. May I order?”
Me: “Of course. The usual?”
Colossus: “Yes.”
He hands me a carefully stacked pile of cash, with notes and coins in an ascending order.
Me: “Could I treat you the food? As a thank-you?”
Colossus: “Why?”
Me: “That guy was really threatening, and you scared him away. Thank you for that!”
Colossus: “I didn’t mean to. Sorry! Is he okay?”
He starts shuffling from one foot to the other.
Me: “No, no, he was threatening to me.”
Colossus: “How?”
Me: “He is a lot bigger than me and was really angry.”
Colossus: “But he wasn’t scary? He’s so small?”
He starts shuffling even more and stims a bit with his hands.
Me: “Not to you… Oh, never mind. Your order will be ready soon. Sit in your booth. I will give you your food at your table.”
Colossus: “Thank you.”
He sat down and calmed down. I gave him his food, taking extra care to make sure everything was as he liked it. He ate, cleaned the table with napkins afterward, and left, never understanding how he’d helped me.
He still goes there at the same time and eats the same burger even though it has been several years.