April 17, 2018
Cima
Grenache & Grilled Calamari

There they go, wearing their colours. All gangs have colours and theirs are displayed prominently, proudly and without mistake.

They laugh loudly, drawing attention and fear from those around them. We see them and we know they will wreak havoc. We watch in fear, hoping they don’t choose our door to darken and dreading their demands, should they do so.

In they swarm, filling the entrance with seemingly endless gang members. They have no reservation, of course, and they are righteously indignant at not having all seventeen of them seated at once.

The gang leader steps up. There is going to be a fight. This looks bad. Angry words fly, but only in one direction.

“I’m so sorry,” says the manager, “I truly am, but we don’t have room for all of you. At least not right now.”

Unacceptable to the gang leader, the reply comes back angry and threatening. The manager cowers, trying not to.

“If you can wait, or come back even,” she says in her most soothing voice, “I could put something together for you in about,” she glances at her watch, “maybe twenty or thirty minutes?”

The gang shuffles, confers.

Violence seems inevitable and all the guests and staff are becoming nervous, hoping this situation does not escalate. Nobody here headed out into their day expecting this. You hear about these things, but you just don’t think it will ever happen to you.

The manager does her best to remain calm, but the fear for her life, shows on her face. She grounds herself; mind entering warrior stance. She straightens her spine and slowly exhales the deep breath she’s been holding.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “That is simply the best I can do.”

Accusations of predjudice are spat at her, but she steels herself to them.

“I promise you,” she says, ” I don’t have room for seventeen anybodys, right now. I have a deuce and a four-top, and that is eleven seats short of what you need. I can put something together for you in about half an hour, and that, I am so sorry, is all I can do.” She winces.

The leader addresses the rest. They spew outrage, not caring who hears them. The arrogance they radiate when they are en masse is palpable. Take them on their own and they become weak and pathetic, but today, they are a hive.

They shrug gang colours, making their choice.

The manager’s shoulders relax a little as the mob filters back out onto the street, ready to ruin someone else’s day; looking for their next victem.

Guests and staff alike sigh with relief, happy to return to eating, serving, talking, smiling.

The manager gets a few shoulder pats and high fives from her crew, all so relieved to have survived the ordeal that nearly was. She smiles and takes one last look out the window at the Red Hat Ladies, shuffling down the sidewalk to become someone else’s problem.