Let's leave the rancor off the menu, please

My goal was simple: take a leisurely drive a few hours north, stopping at a wetland along the way (no eagles, sadly) and then visiting a nearly empty mall (new bedsheets!) so as to arrive at Alladin's Eatery just in time to treat myself to lunch--the Taza Chicken Salad, which may well be my favorite salad on the planet (grilled chicken! pine nuts! apples! grapes! and a honey dijon dressing to die for!). But when I walked into the fast-casual restaurant, one obstacle stood between me and my salad: a waiter giving me that look. 

Probably every adult woman who has ever traveled solo (and maybe some men, too--how would I know?) is familiar with the look. You walk up to the counter and tell the attendant that you'd like a table for one, and the attendant gives you a look dripping with disdain and says, "Just one?"

Now the waiter who served me the look this morning appeared to still be learning the ropes, fumbling to fill a role that was still unfamiliar. Maybe she needed a more experienced waiter to remind her that while a solo diner might not be the most lucrative party in the place, one customer at a table is better than zero customers, especially when the restaurant is practically empty. 

It's been years since I worked in food service but even I know that you can't treat customers like lepers just because they happen to be eating alone. If I were my father, I would have taken the opportunity to teach the waiter a lesson involving a great deal of yelling and demanding to see the manager and withholding of tips. But my father never worked in food service.

"Just one," I calmly told the waiter. "Is that a problem?" I may have given her a quiet look of my own, but it was not nearly as loud as my father's yelling would have been. 

In the end she was very attentive, and the salad was really good. I may have eaten it extra slowly just to assert my right to take up space at a table, but I left a pretty good tip. Maybe the lesson would have been more memorable accompanied by yelling, but a tantrum would have left a bad taste in my mouth. It's rare that I get an opportunity to eat a Taza Chicken Salad at Aladdin's, and I would hate to have that lovely taste tainted by rancor.