I waited for her a while, and finally lay back on my back on the seat of the booth, put my bare feet up on the wall and began reading something. A waiter walked up and asked me if I wanted something. I straightened up and told him to bring me a cup of coffee. I then put on my tennis shoes.

A man probably in his late 40s was sitting across from me on the other side of the booth. He was wearing a white shirt and seemed unconcerned about my presence.

I was next approached by a man (probably in his mid 30s) who was an employee of the restaurant. He was of average build. He walked up to me and asked me if I had some identification which I could show him. I was quite affronted that he should be asking me that, and I said, "No."

But almost immediately I said, "Yes I do have some. But I'm not going to show it to you."

I did indeed have my drivers license in my wallet in my pocket, but I wasn't going to show it to him. I saw no reason why I should and I didn't know why he was signaling me out for such treatment. He walked away for a moment, then walked back and looked under the table at my feet. When he saw that I now had on my tennis shoes, he explained that it was the policy of the restaurant not to let anyone eat here without shoes. But since I now had my shoes on, he no longer seemed concerned about my staying.

I looked at the name of the restaurant on the front window and realized this was the first time I had ever come to this restaurant. I was thinking to myself that I would never come again.

Meanwhile the man who had been sitting across from me had left and a younger fellow (probably in his late 20s) had sat down in his place. The restaurant employee quickly went to and spoke to him. The fellow immediately got up and headed for the door. I saw that he was only wearing a pair of woolly, light gray socks and no shoes. At least the restaurant employee hadn't just picked me out, but was enforcing the rule against everybody.

Copyright 2003 by luciddreamer2k@gmail.com