Farzad Story, Part Two: The Customers Unite

There was an awkward, stunned silence. The other servers and I stopped our usually-constant movement and looked around uncertainly. Someone went after Farzad. I didn’t know what to do. And was I supposed to continue to serve this boozed-up bigot? Finally someone said loudly, “That was very rude – why would someone ever say such a thing?” Someone else answered, “Only an inconsiderate [something or other] would do that.” Others chimed in, addressing him directly, asking who he thought he was and expressing strong disagreement with his idiocy. Boozy Bigot yelled out a stupid response or two, causing his wife to sink further in her chair. What was interesting – and gratifying – was that absolutely no other conversation or activity was happening in that room except for that related to the situation. No one was attempting to carry on and pretend it hadn’t happened, as people are sometimes wont to do after an event – no matter how unsettling – that does not directly involve them.

Someone shouted, “If you feel that way, then you should leave.” He yelled back, “I don’t have to leave! I’m not finished with my dinner!” Someone else shouted, “Well, I’ll PAY you to leave!” “Yeah, we’ll pay for your dinner!” “Yeah!” “Oh yeah, it’s worth anything to get this loser out of here!” “Where’s his check? We want his check!”

My cue. Nervously glancing back at my customer, and hesitating for a second (out of loyalty to him? That corporate customer-is-always-right stuff is deeply ingrained), I grabbed the check out of my pocket and handed it to a man in the center of the room. He yelled out the total, and said, “I’ll put this much on it!” Somebody else said, “Here, I’ve got some!” The energy in the room was contagious as I ran around grabbing cash from the ever-growing number of hands waving in the air. The whole restaurant staff (except Farzad) had stopped working and was gathered around to watch the unfolding scenario.

Man with Check shouted, “OK, we’ve got it!” “What about the tip?” someone else yelled. “Yeah, get her a tip! Make it a big one, she had to deal with him!” (He had actually been no trouble until now, but no point mentioning that at this juncture.) “Here, I’ve got the tip!” said another. I stuffed the check and the money, enough for a nice fat 20%, into my apron and everyone looked expectantly at Boozy. I saw his wife’s stricken face and I felt sorry for her, especially. She had to live the rest of her life with him (maybe) and furthermore, the configuration of the half-booth was such that she couldn’t even get out if he didn’t move first.

“I’m still eating!” he protested, but it was half-hearted at best – he knew he was done for. “Get him a To Go container!” yelled the masses. “Yeah! A To Go container!! Get him out of here!!” Hastily I grabbed a take-out carton and put it on his table. His wife scraped the food in as fast as humanly possible and finally he lumbered to his feet. As he made his way to the door, cheering erupted. The unhappy couple left the room to roaring cheers and loud applause. It seemed like a scene from a movie – one of those unrealistic moments where the viewer must suspend disbelief because everyone knows that a crowd of strangers doesn’t spontaneously burst into applause, let alone oust a man from a restaurant just because he’s a jerk and a racist.

After he left, the crowd called for Farzad. They wanted him to come back, and they wanted to hear the song that had been so rudely interrupted. It was not as if they were demanding their entertainment – the sense was that they didn’t want Boozy Boy to have any hint of a victory. A man who didn’t want to hear a song if it wasn’t in English and especially not if sung by a dark-skinned man from some “other country” was not the entertainment coordinator here, no sir.

We went back to the office and told Farzad that they were all asking for him, and that they wanted him to come back and sing. He looked sad and lonely, and he sort of shook his head “no” and stared at the floor. We tried to tell him about what had happened, and a little bit of light came back into his eyes. He couldn’t believe that the customers had actually paid to get rid of his heckler. When he heard the customers yelling his name, he agreed to come back. He entered the room to boisterous applause. He sang the beautiful song again, from start to finish, uninterrupted. That time it did make me cry.