Checkered Floor and Booth

All he had wanted this morning was a nice chamomile tea and a muffin.

Not this. He didn’t want the weight of something like this. He slowly pulled it out of his teacup and inspected it. How had he not realized this was in here the entire time he was drinking? He couldn’t look at it for much longer. Oh, how it repulsed him.

Should I tell someone? He thought to himself. But who do I tell? The server? The manager? Considering all of his options, he decided to stay in his seat. He didn’t want to create an uproar in this fine establishment. He decided he wouldn’t tell anyone, but he definitely didn’t want to take it.

He stood up with apprehension. His forehead beading with sweat, his legs shaking underneath his slightly overweight body. He held it in between his index finger and his thumb.

He scanned the entirety of the restaurant. As soon as he was sure no one was looking at him at this moment, he threw it on the table, made the quick calculation of a 25% tip, and fled the scene.

As the door shut behind his retreat, a server made her way to his vacant table. She began to wipe the crumbs of his muffin onto the empty plate, before stopping then staring at what he had thrown onto the table. She slowly picked it up, eyes fixated on it. It glistened in the light of the morning.

Her head shot up, she scanned the entirety of the restaurant. She held the ring in between her index finder and her thumb. As soon as she was sure no one was looking at her at this moment, she slid it into her pocket.

She cleaned his table and fled the scene.


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