I stepped into Miss Krash's 4th grade classroom on Monday morning so we could finish working on a lesson plan for her literature study group. I wrote down her name, looked up, and then commented, "I love your last name. I bet it is fun to have a spunky last name like Krash." She replied, "Oh, if you only knew. The name suits me a little too well." Tara Krash held up her wrist and displayed a scar that screamed of disaster and said, "This was from a run-in I had with some glass. Oh, and last weekend, I was robbed." Tara held my undivided attention as she proceeded to tell me her story.
Miss Krash and her best friend were enjoying a night out at an upscale pizzeria in Scottsdale. After being escorted to their seats, they stacked their purses in the middle of the table and began to look over the menu. Tara pulled out her wallet to check the status of her cash flow, and then placed the pocketbook on top of the pile of purses.
The two ordered their pizza and were enjoying stories and some laughs when a man in a black shirt, black pants, and black shoes walked up to their table, paused, picked up Miss Krash's wallet, turned around, and then slowly walked away. In a state of shock, the two best friends looked at each other, and then glanced back at the man in black only to see him walking out the door.
"No. This is not going to happen. I am not going to be robbed by a man posing as a busboy," Krash stated with attitude. She ran out the door and began to pursue the thief. Tara then decided that a car chase would be much more effective, so she jumped into her red Honda Accord and sped down the road. While driving in a state of complete abandonment of reason, she dialed 911 so the police could assist her with backup as she captured the bad guy. The operator advised her to return to the restaurant and leave the arrest of what could possibly be an armed criminal to the professionals.
Miss Krash reluctantly returned to the restaurant, where the two friends proceeded with the tasks of reporting bankcards stolen, and filling out police reports, while nibbling on their, now cold, medium pepperoni and mushroom pizza.
While the story of Krash and the great pizzeria caper is shocking, it is what happened next that has left me deeply disturbed.
As the two young women came down off of their combined adrenalin rush, the waiter meandered up to their table and did the unspeakable. The waiter handed them a bill for the pizza. With a smirk on her face, Tara thought to herself, "Humor is a great way to handle this situation. I'm glad our waiter is joking around with us." However, she quickly realized the waiter was not smiling, and the joke was on her. He was totally serious about charging them for the pizza. Miss Krash questioned, "Surely you do not intend on making us pay for this. We were just robbed while sitting in your restaurant."
The waiter responded, "Yes. You two will need to pay for your food." Krash raised her voice and demanded to speak to the manager. The "waiter" answered, "I am the manager, and you will need to pay your bill." While wondering if both of their wallets had been taken, would they have been forced to wash dishes, Miss Krash's friend insisted, "This one is on me."
Upon completion of hearing this engaging story, I was left in a state of anticipation as "Krash" promised me that she has plenty more stories to share which confirm her namesake (I have been advised to ask her about the infamous pedicure next).
In the meantime, I remain unsettled by the events of Tara's narrative. Strangely enough, what is haunting me is not that Miss Krash and her friend were robbed in the middle of a classy eating establishment. What I can't seem to let go of is the fact that they were charged for the pizza. "Why?", I keep asking myself over and over again, "Why would any business person, or just simply any person, witness the robbery of two young ladies, and then demand that they pay for the cold pizza they ate as they were interrogated by police and credit card companies?"
Since Monday, I have asked myself that question at least a dozen times. Why is this quandary tormenting me so? After all, it was just a pizza. I have come to the conclusion that the travesty of the "upright's" lack of integrity and compassion, for me, outweighs the comparatively harmless criminal activity of wayward souls.
5 comments:
This would NEVER have happened in Beverly Hills. The wallet would have been stolen, but the pizza would have been free and they would have thrown in some dessert for good measure. Scottsdalians lack the service models that you would see in more established "upscale" areas. I think it may be the transient nature of Arizona residents. I wouldn't chalk this one up to the downfall of humanity. Maybe they just have razor thin profit margins. P.S. I do find it completely offensive as a human being and not so smart as a business person.
Thanks for restoring some of my hope in regards to "the downfall of humanity". Not that one pizza has that much control over my worldview, however, as I begin to exercise my writing muscles, it does bring awareness to my areas of concern, and my weakness... as any good workout program should. You may find this shocking (sarcasm intended), but I'm currently struggling with the way in which people of position and power often are lacking in connections to the voice and needs of people outside of their incestuous realm. (This comment is propelling me into thought for an upcoming piece.)
I completely agree. I would have walked out and not paid for the pizza. That is just bad manners. Period. The mother of that waiter/manager would be ashamed of him. So sad.
The thing about power is that you actually have to relinquish a lot of your own real power to obtain any perceived power. You become beholden to those who have put you in a position of power. Every thing you do with your power is modified by those who gave it to you until it's no longer your own. Then you can't even remember what you wanted to do with your power, you just have to hold onto it for as long as you can!
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