After a tough week, everyone in the family agreed that we needed a break from cooking, cleaning, and the usual chaos of everyday life. We chose to go to Applebee’s, a laid-back place we knew where we could relax, enjoy a good supper, and spend time together. We didn’t do anything extraordinary; we just went out to unwind.
But when we got to Applebee’s, it was evident that we weren’t the only ones who thought of that. There were a lot of people there. Cars were all over the place. People were circling like vultures, looking for a spot to land. I let out a breath, gripped the steering wheel more tightly, and slowly began to weave through the rows.
After five minutes of snooping around and becoming irritated, I finally saw a guy leave the restaurant and walk to his car. He looked like he had done eating for the night. I carefully followed him, watching as he unlocked his car, got in, and took longer than I imagined he would to back out. I didn’t care. I waited. I had my turn signal on, which clearly demonstrated that I was waiting for him to move.
It happened right when he was about to leave the place where I’d been waiting.
Before I could even go forward, a silver car with loud music and wide windows rushed around the corner and into the spot. It was quick, scheduled, and not very fun. There were four young women in the car, perhaps in their early twenties, and they were giggling like they had just pulled off the largest robbery ever.
For a second, I just sat there in shock. I didn’t believe it at first, then I got irritated, and ultimately I got angry slowly. I rolled down my window and talked to the driver in a nice but strong way.
“I’ve been waiting for that spot,” I told her.
With a smug smile, she looked me in the eye and said, “Too bad.” It didn’t have your name on it.
Then she laughed and turned back to her friends, clearly happy with herself.
To be honest, a part of me wanted to jump straight in. But my family was in the car. I wasn’t going to show my kids how to act like that. So I stayed calm. I shook my head, took a deep breath, and went back to looking for a new spot. I finally found one, well in the back, a long walk from the door, but it was a spot, and that’s all I needed.
We went inside, sat down, and ordered something to eat. The mood at the table began to improve as we ate appetizers and talked about our week. I made sure to move on from what transpired in the parking lot. All it was was a spot. That’s what I thought too.
I spotted them then—the same girls who had taken my place were now at the bar. They were loud, laughing too much, and taking shots like it was spring vacation. There was blue stuff, tequila, and vodka. It was a free-for-all. It was clear that they weren’t taking their time. I witnessed them drink one drink after another, and they didn’t look like they were going to stop.
That’s when I realized that I didn’t need revenge; I needed an opening. A little bit of poetic justice, if you will.
I asked our waiter to come over when we were done eating. He was a friendly person, perhaps in his mid-twenties, and had a great sense of humor. I handed him a $20 bill and said quietly, “Please do me a favor.” Wait fifteen minutes after we leave before going up to the girls in the bar. “Someone just called the restaurant and said their car got scratched in the lot,” you say.
He looked at me for a second, then smiled as if he knew what I was talking about. “Yes, you got it,” he said.
Let me be clear: I didn’t touch their automobile. Even if someone was very disrespectful, I would never hurt their things. But the thought of women going crazy and dashing outside in their heels and yelling about scratches that weren’t there made me feel good.
We left the restaurant a few minutes later, got in the car, and drove home. I couldn’t stop thinking about how it had turned out for the rest of the night. I couldn’t quit thinking about it the next day. But I would prefer not push it. I thought I might come by next week and inquire.
I did go back to Applebee’s about a week later, but this time it was just for a drink. The same waiter saw me as soon as I walked in. He practically ran over to my table and laughed before he said anything.
With a smirk, he said, “You won’t believe what happened after you left.”
He added that five minutes after we left, he walked over to the women and casually told them that someone had called the restaurant to tell that their car had been scratched. He acted calm, but it seemed like the result was quick chaos. They bolted off their bar stools, spilled drinks, and hurried outside in a hurry. Screaming. Cursing. They felt all around the automobile for damage that wasn’t there.
They then called the police in a frenzy to report the “vandalism.”
The cops came straight away, checked out the automobile, and of course found that it wasn’t damaged at all. But as they were doing this, they noticed something else. The females were really inebriated. They were noisy, slurring their words, and tripping over things. Everything. As they finished other duties, the officers decided to keep an eye on them and drove around the parking lot a few times.
And you know what? A little while later, the girls came back outside, laughing and dancing, and got in the car. As soon as the engine started, the squad car’s lights came on. Lights that blink. Sounds of a siren. Gotcha.
They made arrests for drunk driving. It wasn’t only about concerns about noise or drinking underage anymore. They were a serious threat on the road, and the police were not going to let that go.
When the waiter was done with the anecdote, I couldn’t help but laugh. It was too lovely to be true, like something you’d see in a movie. The situation was marked by arrogance, carelessness, and quick karma. What is the best? Nobody got hurt. But a few irresponsible people were taken off the road before anything horrible could happen.
I tipped the waiter $20 more. “This is the best $40 I’ve ever spent,” I said. And I meant it.
