It was meant to be a special evening. To celebrate our anniversary, I had planned a dinner at a restaurant known for its elegant atmosphere and carefully prepared dishes. From the moment we arrived, though, the night felt off. The server seemed rushed and distant, barely making eye contact as he spoke. When we were asked to move from our window table because of a “mix-up,” the explanation felt abrupt and dismissive rather than apologetic. I tried to brush it off, reminding myself that the night was about us, not the service. Still, the tension lingered, quietly dampening what should have been a joyful milestone.
As the meal continued, the pattern didn’t improve. Requests were forgotten, responses felt sharp, and every interaction left us feeling like an inconvenience rather than guests. By the time the bill arrived, the mood had shifted completely. After settling the amount, the server returned and pointed out what he called a missing “service fee.” I calmly explained that gratuity is a reflection of the experience provided. There was no raised voice or scene—just a clear boundary. When the manager approached and insisted that tipping was an expectation regardless of service quality, I stood my ground. Respect, I believed, should work both ways.
