I arrived early at a cozy café, waiting to meet a friend, and spotted the perfect table by the window. Just as I was about to sit, a woman shoved past me without warning. “MOVE IT! MY KIDS NEED THESE SEATS!” she barked, not even bothering to apologize. I told her calmly that I was waiting for someone, but she glared at me like I’d committed a crime.

She crossed her arms and sneered, “I’m friends with the owner. I can have you kicked out in a second.” Her voice dripped with entitlement. Then she leaned in closer, her tone turning threatening. “YOU DON’T KNOW WHO YOU’RE DEALING WITH. ONE CALL, AND YOU’RE BANNED.” I felt my blood simmer, but I forced myself to stay composed, refusing to let her intimidation work on me.

Instead of engaging, I looked at the menu, trying to keep the peace, but curiosity made me glance at her face. She looked furious—almost shaking with the need to control the situation. People around us were starting to watch, clearly uncomfortable with her behavior. Still, she acted like she owned the entire café.

Just then, the real owner walked over and greeted me by name—turns out he was an old friend of my brother’s. The woman’s expression fell instantly. When she tried to complain about me, the owner simply smiled and told her that everyone was welcome, but no one was allowed to bully other customers. Her face turned crimson before she gathered her kids and stormed out. I sat down at my window seat, relieved—and just a little amused at the irony.