Chuck

"... but her son just sat in embarrassment and rearranged his silverware."

     That summer, it seemed like Kelsi was slowly reaching her breaking point. And when I saw her from a distance turn around, ready to break down after ninety-four said something about her jeans, I realized there was nothing I could do. Kelsi is one of those few people who keep getting the short end of the stick, and the worst part of it: she had grown used to it. I wanted to help her somehow, but the managers had said that because of last time, I was not to communicate with disruptive guests.

     Last time I had to escort a drunk woman out of the restaurant. I can still picture her at table forty-four, with her twenty-or-something year old son across from her. He slouched over the table in his black Spider-Man t-shirt, and took every abuse thrown from his mother.
     “You’re not here to talk at me, Chuck. You’re here to buy me drinks and drive me home.”
     “Mom, I think it’s time to…”
     “F*** off, Chuck!” She interrupted and the whole family establishment heard. “You wanna go home? Then buy your own ******* house!” She tried to stand up quickly to walk toward the bar, but she instantly lost her balance and pulled an entire drink tray on her way down. That is usually the part where the other party member escorts the guest out, but her son just sat in embarrassment and rearranged his silverware.
     I was the only male on the clock, and somewhere in Stanley’s handbook, it stated that only able-bodied males were to deal with intoxicated guests… at least that’s what the manager told me. I helped her up and brought her to a bench beside the arcade room and tried to find her son, but he had vanished.
     “M’am, can you tell me where you live?”
     Without a moment's hesitation she brought her fist to my face in one sloppy motion. The manager took care of the rest. Since then, they mandated that only managers may deal with intoxicated guests.