Disabled Woman Was Refused Service at the Restaurant, Then Staff Instantly Regretted It – Story of the Day

A disabled woman in a wheelchair is refused service at a high-end elite restaurant and is kicked out. When she somehow manages to get inside the eatery again and starts enjoying her meal, the rude staff mistreats her in ways she could've never imagined. Soon, they terribly regret it.

It was a pleasant fall evening.

In the dimly lit elegance of The Flaming Fork, where crystal chandeliers sparkled like stars, anticipation and tension hung in the air.

The staff of this extravagant and exclusive high-end restaurant, known for its exquisite flavors and delicious menu, were clad in their finest attire. They exchanged nervous glances as they awaited the arrival of the enigmatic Loyola, the renowned restaurant critic.

"Antonio, the champagne...crystal plates...and our signature Truffle Temptation Risotto made exclusively for our esteemed guest for the night?" Cassidy, the eatery's owner and manager, beckoned at the host, pointing at the critic's VIP table...

"All set, Mrs. Parker! Not to worry!"

Two days ago, Cassidy had received a tip that the food critic would visit the restaurant that day and dine before publishing their honest opinion in the review.

Everyone from the manager to the chefs and kitchen helpers to janitors was aware of the eminent critic's surprise visit. They were striving to make sure the critic had the best experience ever. Moreover, one rave review from Loyola could skyrocket The Flaming Fork's business in no time.

So, everything had to be…PERFECT.

"God, I'm so nervous! He should be here any minute..." Cassidy anxiously waved her hand against her face.

"We haven't seen him before...I am not sure how he looks. I've only read his reviews on his blog. I just hope today ends well...and we get that glowing review from Mr. Loyola!"

All the staff at The Flaming Fork were running around, courteously serving their guests with a smile. The atmosphere was so tense and busy because Loyola was no ordinary critic. Loyola was that one name many people in the food business dreaded.

One outstanding review from Loyola would make The Flaming Fork one of the city's most successful and famous eateries. On the flip side, one negative review from the critic could mean THE END for this upscale restaurant.

Loyola's bad reviews had thrown many successful eateries into a downward spiral of loss...and they never found their way back into the food business again.

So, The Flaming Fork's staff were cautious to impress the acclaimed critic with their top-notch service and delicious menu. They were ready to give it their all to send Loyola away with a smiling, satisfied face and a mind full of positive opinions.

"Mrs. Parker, I think he should be here any minute," Antonio whispered to Cassidy. "We just have to keep a watch on all our guests. I heard Mr. Loyola usually visits the restaurants he reviews unannounced. He could be just anybody in plain sight! We got to be a bit more careful...just in case."

"Everything looks perfect!" Cassidy smiled. "I love the arrangements tonight. Look at our guests! They look so elegant...and classy. What could be more impressive than this to Mr. Loyola? I bet we'd get that golden review from him for just how impressive the place looks today!"

Everything was indeed...perfect! The eatery was infused with the inviting aroma of grilled chicken, smoked steak, seafood, wine, varieties of bread, and barbecue dishes.

There was a separate menu for kids and older guests, which The Flaming Fork gave utmost importance to, setting them apart from the rest of the eateries.

The tables glistened with sparkling cutlery and crystal plates. Fresh and fragrant roses adorned the vases on each table. Soft jazz played in the background, and a rumble of happy chatter and laughter echoed as the first guests of the evening started enjoying their food and drinks.

Cassidy was delighted when she observed the satisfaction and joy among the guests, some of the city's most exuberant people. All were dressed to the nines—the gentlemen in the finest suits and ladies in exclusive designer wear.

Cassidy and her staff were certain that nothing could go wrong.

Just then, a simple-looking woman in an off-white striped shirt and pants entered the doorway in a wheelchair.

When Cassidy saw her, her first impression was that the woman looked completely different...a 'misfit' in the otherwise lovely evening.

"Antonio...what is that woman in the wheelchair doing over here? People like her are not allowed here tonight. Send her away. I don't want that pathetic-looking female ruining our important event tonight," Cassidy hurried to the host and murmured.

"I don't know who let her in. The security must've missed noticing her. I'll take care of it, Mrs. Parker," Antonio nodded and rushed to the woman before she could get inside further.

"Stop...I'm sorry, but you're not allowed to go in further," Antonio immediately rushed to the entrance and hooked the queue barrier, stopping the woman in her tracks.

"Please leave, Ma'am."

The guest in the wheelchair, seemingly in her mid-thirties, was taken aback when the host refused entry. "I'm sorry...why not?"

"Ma'am, you're not allowed inside," Antonio scowled. "Because we're hosting an important private event tonight only for pre-approved guests. Please go away."

"Why is there any problem with me dining here, sir?" the woman snapped back politely. "There's no 'private event' mentioned on the door. Besides, I'd ask you to kindly check the reservation list. My name's got to be there. I booked a table here already. My last name is White."

"I think there's got to be a mistake. We didn't reserve any tables for disabled people tonight. We have a private gathering...the tables are already booked, and I'm afraid we don't have a spot for..." Antonio paused and stared coldly at the wheelchair.

"...we don't have a table for people like YOU!"

The woman craned her neck and scanned the interiors sprawling with guests, quickly noticing that not all the tables were occupied. There were quite a few empty spots, and she could easily occupy one of them. Moreover, the table she'd booked was still empty.

"There...you see the table in the middle? I think I have a reservation for that," she said. "It's for Mrs. White. Could you please check the list?"

Antonio annoyingly flipped the guest reservation list and sighed. The lady's name was indeed there, and she was the last one on the list to have reserved a table.

"My name's in there, right? May I help you with the spelling? It's W-H-I-T-E," the woman looked up and smiled.

"I know the spelling," Antonio frowned. "Why don't you understand, lady? You're not allowed inside tonight. Go park your wheelchair somewhere else. I'm sure plenty of other cheap eateries are open at this hour. So why don't you just go there and eat to your heart's content? We can't serve you here tonight. Please leave."

"Pardon me? Can you please call the manager? I need to talk to your manager. This isn't right. You can't just send your guest away...that too after I booked a table."

Antonio stared grimly at Mrs. White. Not only was she dressed in simple clothes, starkly contrasting with the wealthy elite inside, but the wheels of her wheelchair were covered in dirt.

They had left thin streaks of muddy tire marks on the sparkling white floor, which annoyed the host. A raggedy shawl wrapped around Mrs. White's shoulders, and her thin, twisty legs were adorned with a pair of old sneakers.

"I hope you heard me, Sir...I want to talk to the manager. Can you please call your manager? I'm not going anywhere without finding a solution."

Antonio watched in disbelief as a rich couple appeared at the doorway. And he didn't want to make a scene in front of them.

"Don't just block the way with your wheelchair, lady. Move it," Antonio mumbled at Mrs. White before unhooking the barrier and rushing to welcome the affluent guests.

"Have a pleasant evening, Sir...Ma'am!" he greeted the guests and angrily turned to Mrs. White.

"Our manager is busy. You can leave...or I'll have you escorted out. You've done enough damage to the floor with your dirty wheelchair. So please leave."

Mrs. White frowned. "But I have a reservation today. My name must be on that list...I called yesterday afternoon. You can't just send me away. I'm hungry, and I've come a long way to dine here. Please, call your manager."

Antonio exhaled stonily and turned to his side. "Mrs. Parker? Mind coming here for a second? We've got a small problem."

Unable to keep such an unpleasant sight waiting at the eatery's entrance, Antonio rushed inside and approached Cassidy to do something and send Mrs. White away.

"I told her to leave, but she won't move. God, she's so stubborn. I even threatened to call the guards and throw her out," he mumbled. "...she looks so off in her wheelchair and shabby clothes. She wants to have a word with you."

"Antonio! Geez, I'm busy! Just send her out, will you? Can't you do such a simple thing by yourself? I'm already nervous about our meeting with Mr. Loyola."

Antonio shrugged. "She ain't moving! Please, it won't take you more than two minutes. Just deal with her in your style."

"Fine, just go there and stay with her until I come...make sure she doesn't get in here. I'll be there in a moment."

Two minutes later, Cassidy arrived at the spot, only to stop and annoyingly stare at Mrs. White and her wheelchair. She thought the host was right after looking at the woman closely.

Cassidy was not prepared to tarnish the important occasion by having a poor-looking Mrs. White around.

"What's going on?" she fumed. "How can I help you today, Ma'am? Are you sure you have a reservation here tonight? I don't think so coz we don't remember booking a special table for a...wheelchair-bound person like you."

Mrs. White was pretty stunned. Nobody addresses disabled people so cruelly. But here at The Flaming Fork, it was quite the opposite.

"Hi...I'm Mrs. White. Yes, I do have a reservation. And I'm pretty sure you won't ask your guests if they're disabled while making the reservations, aren't I?"

Cassidy looked at Mrs. White from top to toe and frowned.

"Listen, Ma'am. Were you not told we have a private event tonight and only elite guests would be attending? I'm afraid your reservation is canceled. If you've paid any advance for the booking, it'll be refunded to you."

"I think there's been a mistake, Ma'am," Mrs. White sternly replied. "I reserved the table last night...and it was confirmed via a phone call this morning. I was not told about any private function or cancellation, which means I'm still allowed to dine here tonight. Could you please check the list?"

Cassidy exchanged a glance with Antonio as he handed over the reservation list to her. She could not stand Mrs. White's stubbornness and wanted her out by all means.

"Uhm, indeed...Mrs. White, your name is there on the list. But I'm afraid we cannot allow you inside. Like I told you, today's an important night with only the 'elite class' attending. And by looking at you—"

Mrs. White's smile turned into a look of discomfort.

"I'm sorry...what does that mean?"

Cassidy smirked and shook her head. "The thing is, tonight's event has a dress code. And you're not dressed accordingly...

...All female guests have to wear heels. And by the looks of your shoes...I don't think you're dressed for the gathering. Sorry."

Cassidy was, of course, lying. And Mrs. White could see that.

When Cassidy said that, Mrs. White noticed the insulting look in her eyes as she glared at the wheelchair and the demeaning tone in her accent.

But to Mrs. White's horror, Cassidy wouldn't stop at that.

"Tell you what...there's this food van across the street, just five minutes from here," Cassidy stonily said. "They serve delicious hotdogs and burgers...and they always have free spots for folks like you...I mean, people in wheelchairs...

"...I suppose they're still open now, right Antonio? So, why don't you try to go there instead? Maybe you could hail a cab from across the street. Have a nice evening!"

Mrs. White's face fell, but Cassidy quickly shifted her focus to Antonio, completely ignoring that Mrs. White was still right there, waiting.

"Has the critic arrived yet, Antonio? Did you get any notification? So far, everything's going well. I'm sure Mr. Loyola will like it here. After all, you're the one behind the wonderful preparations for tonight! I'm impressed. And I'm sure Mr. Loyola will be flattered, too!"

"Oh, thank you! It's my pleasure. I suppose Mr. Loyola must be on his way."

"Alright...just tell me when he's here, okay? And don't forget the mojitos and margaritas. I want Mr. Loyola to know just how perfect we are with the food and drinks…and service!

"…Just keep wearing your pristine smile and straighten your back! Remember, a warm greeting is very important. It's our first impression to win the critic's golden review."

Antonio and Cassidy exchanged a smile, both of them ignoring Mrs. White as she disappointedly turned around and prepared to leave.

Just as Mrs. White wheeled herself toward the foyer, she ran into an elegantly dressed woman who was fortunately wearing high-heeled shoes.

She approached closer and stopped the lady. "Excuse me, Miss. Can I propose a small offer?"

The lady was in a hurry to go inside the mall nearby and mistook Mrs. White for a street vendor. "I'm sorry...I don't want to buy anything, lady."

"Oh, I'm not selling anything! I just wanted to buy something from you...can I have those shoes you're wearing? I'd like to buy them."

The woman stared weirdly at Mrs. White's wheelchair and her twisted legs. "Why do you want my shoes? These are expensive Givenchy heels, by the way! They cost me $1,140! I can't just give them away, lady!"

Mrs. White stared at the heels and looked up at the woman.

"Well, in that case..." she dug into her purse and pulled out a wad of cash. "I offer you triple the price...you can buy yourself three pairs! What do you say now?"

The woman grew uneasy and confused. "Triple the price for secondhand shoes? But why? Don't be crazy, lady! You can get yourself a new pair...the store's just a ten-minute drive from here."

"I know...but I don't have the time to shop now," Mrs. White replied. "It's just that...uhm...I need these shoes urgently. I want them now. Here, take the money. And sell me your shoes."

The woman thought for a while and smiled. She couldn't resist the handsome offer. So she took the money and agreed to trade her shoes with Mrs. White.

"But what am I gonna wear now?" she asked. "I can't walk around barefoot on the street!"

Mrs. White looked down at her sneakers and nodded. "Fair enough! You can take my sneakers. They're not that bad...you said the store's not that far. So you can buy your new pair of shoes and just discard the sneakers."

The woman gazed at Mrs. White's sneakers. They seemed pretty old, but they looked quite functional. So, they swapped their shoes and parted ways.

Mrs. White slipped the expensive heels on and turned around to go back inside the restaurant.

"Let's see who stops me now!" she whispered as she wheeled herself inside The Flaming Fork with the pair of shimmery Givenchy heels on her feet.

"Stop!" Mrs. White stopped Antonio from hooking the barrier back on. "I'm wearing heels...and I think I'm dressed appropriately according to your dress code for tonight. Let me in!"

The host frustratingly nodded and reluctantly let Mrs. White in. He looked around for Cassidy, but she was nowhere in sight.

"Alright, that way, please," he pointed to the table Mrs. White had reserved.

A waiter then led her to a table in the middle of the bustling eatery and arrogantly flung the menu on the table.

"Your order, please! Kindly make it fast."

"A Filet Mignon for me, please," Mrs. White pressed her finger on the item on the menu and looked up at the waiter with a smile.

"No...there's no more Filet Mignon. We're out."

"Oh, okay!" Mrs. White perused the menu again. "Bring me the Beef Bourguignon in that case...with Quiche Lorraine and a Crème Brûlée later."

The waiter smirked and rolled his eyes. "No, there's none of that, either. Order something else. I don't have all evening, I've got a lot of other 'important' guests to serve. So make it fast, will you?"

Mrs. White was taken aback by the waiter's harsh words and continued to skim through the menu.

"Uhm...Chicken parmesan? Buffalo wings?" she turned to the waiter. "You have any of these, at least?"

"No!"

"Weird. Your menu mentions these dishes...fine. Sweet potato pie?"

The waiter rolled his eyes and fumed an angry "No!"

Mrs. White could take it no more. She clearly understood that she was being given a cold shoulder so she would give up and leave the eatery.

"Excuse me? Is there a problem?"

The angry waiter clutched his hands tight and grimly stared at her.

"What are you looking at that's so baffling? Is it my wheelchair? Do I look different from everyone else around here? Haven't you seen people in wheelchairs before?" Mrs. White lashed out, keeping her tone polite.

The waiter refused to answer her and looked away.

"Alright..." Mrs. White cleared her throat and looked around. She caught sight of another guest's dish at a table nearby and turned to the waiter.

"In that case...I'll have what that gentleman is having. I see he just got another plate of the same dish served. I'm sure there is more in the kitchen. What is that dish?"

"It's grilled beef with cashew lettuce wraps and walnut salad," the waiter snapped at her.

"Alright then. I'll have what he's having...And follow it up with a latte, please!"

"Okay!" The waiter grabbed the menu and walked away to fetch the order. Just then, Mrs. White called out to him.

"One sec...I'm allergic to nuts. Can I have the dish without the nuts?"

"I can't...it's impossible," the waiter grimly replied, looking away from her. "I'm not the chef. And it's not my problem you're allergic. You should've ordered something else...and I don't have the time to wait until you decide what you're gonna eat."

Mrs. White raised her brows. "So? What should I do? Surely you should offer me a nut-free option so I can enjoy the dish and not fall sick."

"There's a fork on your table. I'll bring the dish...you'll have to scoop out the nuts yourself."

Having said that, the waiter stormed away when Mrs. White called out to him again.

"Yes, now what??" he fumed, rolling his eyes.

"Can you please put my phone in the charger? The battery's draining. And kindly inform me if somebody calls...I'm expecting a very important call, and I can't afford to miss it."

The waiter grabbed the phone from Mrs. White and turned around, only to trip over her wheelchair. Fortunately, he didn't miss his balance and stormed off angrily, gravely staring at Mrs. White as she pulled the wheelchair closer.

Within five minutes, Mrs. White's dinner was served. She was surprised because most restaurants usually take a bit longer to bring the ordered dishes to the customers' table.

But this was really fast. Clearly, the host and owner were keen on having Mrs. White gone before the critic arrived and took notice of her.

Mrs. White was enjoying her food when she was suddenly distracted by a familiar ringtone from nearby.

Despite all that clitter-clatter in the bustling eatery, she could recognize the ringtone. It was her little son's favorite song emanating from the phone plugged into the charger.

She turned around and saw the waiter leaning and peering at her phone. Mrs. White was now certain she had gotten a call and thought the waiter would bring the phone to her.

It was then that a customer sitting at the table behind her called the waiter over. "Waiter? Could you come over for a minute?"

The waiter ignored Mrs. White's ringing phone and hurried to the guest. "Yes, Sir. How may I help you?"

"Yeah, can you get your pianist to play a tango? I want to dance...with my wife!"

"Of course, Sir! It's my pleasure," the waiter smiled and hurried to the player.

"Excuse me, waiter," Mrs. White interrupted him. "Did I get a call?"

"No, you did not!" the waiter replied.

"I didn't? Are you sure? Coz I thought I heard my phone ringing."

"No, Ma'am. I was near your phone. Nobody called."

Before Mrs. White could question further, he walked away, and within moments, the ambiance lit up with a sizzling tango tune.

The couple rose from their chairs and swayed across the compact space between the tables, showing off their dance moves as everyone around watched and clapped in awe.

They had hardly started shaking their legs when the man accidentally bumped into Mrs. White's wheelchair.

People who watched giggled, and that drove him mad.

"How disgusting," the guy grumbled, staring fiercely at Mrs. White.

"These entitled disabled people think they own the world or something. They just barge into a five-star restaurant in their wheelchair...occupying all that space...creating a mess."

"Sorry? What did you say?" Mrs. White looked up at him. She was visibly upset and annoyed.

"I don't see any sign 'for the disabled' on the restaurant's front door...How the hell did they allow you inside? I don't think this restaurant has five-star standards. If they did, this person wouldn't be in here..."

"Excuse me, come again?"

"Who allowed a cripple like you in here, lady?" the man yelled. "It's ridiculous. You're ruining my dinner and mood...and that annoying wheelchair that's sitting right in the middle, occupying all that goddamn space. Disgusting!"

"Excuse me, sir, you can't talk to me like that—"

Before Mrs. White could finish talking and process the string of insults happening around her, Cassidy walked in after witnessing the chaos.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. White turned to Cassidy. "This gentleman here...he's shouting at me...calling me names. Can you please look into it? And maybe give him a different spot?" Mrs. White turned to Cassidy.

But to her shock, the manager was least concerned about her problems and turned to the rude man instead. "Excuse me, Sir. Is there a problem? How may I help you?"

Mrs. White could not believe her eyes.

"Oh, yeah! We've got a big problem here tonight," the man fumed, pointing at Mrs. White.

"I expected far better from your restaurant. We wanted to dance...but that damn wheelchair is taking up half the space. I regret coming here tonight…and she's complaining to you about me?

…It sickens me to dine with such pathetic people."

"But...he was the one who bumped into my wheelchair," Mrs. White reasoned.

To her shock, the manager took the guy's side, saying, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Sir. We'll quickly fix everything. You don't have to worry about it. Please relax!"

"Fix everything?" Mrs. White's eyes bulged in disbelief. "Are you serious? You're apologizing to him when he was the one who was rude...and demeaning to me. Is this a part of your restaurant policy? That anybody can get away with treating anyone poorly?"

"You know what...let's drop it. She's spoiled my mood. I don't wanna dance. It's all your fault for letting her inside in the first place," the man lashed out and returned to his table.

"Hey, stop calling me by such names. It's your fault. Just look at the way he's misbehaving, manager…and you're not saying anything to him," Mrs. White turned to Cassidy.

Instead of voicing Mrs. White's concerns or looking into them, Cassidy just stormed away and instructed the waiter to send Mrs. White out of the restaurant quickly.

"Mr. Loyola will be here any minute. I'm so done with that woman. Just take her away before he comes. We can't afford to deal with her stupid dramas now. We don't have the time for all that...

"...Roll her...or carry her in your arms...do something. Just get rid of her. I don't want to see her at that table anymore. Such a nuisance."

"Okay, Mrs. Parker. I'll do it right away."

"And don't forget to give that gentleman a complimentary bottle of wine to make up for spoiling his mood...you know!"

The waiter nodded, and after serving the rude customer the complimentary beverage, he approached Mrs. White.

"Are you done eating? Can I bring the bill?" he asked, annoyingly staring at the big chunk of food that remained on her plate.

"No...I need a little more time. I'm planning on ordering something else after this. So, I'd appreciate your patience."

The waiter walked away, frowning. A string of curse words flooded his mind. Meanwhile, Mrs. White continued to enjoy her meal when the waiter reappeared and told her she had to move elsewhere or leave the eatery quickly.

"I'm sorry. But I haven't finished eating," she paused and looked up. "I can't just move to another table halfway through my dinner."

"Your table is reserved for a special guest. So we'll have to move you to another table, Ma'am. Don't worry about moving your food. We'll get it done for you."

"But how is that possible? I reserved this table. You can't just ask me to move somewhere else when I'm still eating. Do you do this to all your guests? I don't think so."

"Yeah, just move the damn woman outta my sight," the rude guest remarked from behind.

"Kindly stay out of this, Sir," Mrs. White turned to the man.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. There's nothing I can do. I'm just following orders. Seems there's been a faulty reservation. You've been allotted the wrong table. Moreover, your wheelchair is cramping up the place. So you need to go with me."

Mrs. White felt defeated and knew she could argue no more. Even if she did, to what extent would they even listen to her?

So, sighing a deep breath, she wheeled behind the waiter to a dimly lit room near the kitchen, segregated from the rest of the main dining area.

"Over here?" Mrs. White gasped. "But I don't see any guests here. And this place looks dingy...smells damp. I can see cardboard boxes strewn around. Is this some kind of a storeroom or something?"

"It's part of the main dining area...the only thing is it's isolated," the waiter lied. Actually, the spot Mrs. White was shifted to was where the restaurant employees and janitors had their lunch.

Not that it was an awkward place to eat, but it was definitely not the perfect spot where a guest at a 5-star restaurant would dine.

"Finish your dinner and let me know. I'll bring the bill," the waiter said.

Mrs. White nodded, unable to eat peacefully. She was hurt. While everybody else was enjoying their meal together, basking in the melodious music and laughter, she was all alone in some isolated corner of the elite restaurant.

She started coughing in the middle of her meal and called out to the waiter.

"Excuse me, can I please have a glass of cold water?"

The waiter smirked. "If you want cold water, you're gonna have to drink outside at the fountain!"

"Look, I hate to be a bother. But would you mind being kinder?" Mrs. White looked up.

"I'm sorry. But the answer is no! Arrogant people like you deserve to be treated this way," the waiter scowled.

"I'm arrogant? Fine." Mrs. White was disheartened as she looked at her plate and continued eating.

Not only was it cold in that corner of the room, but it was pretty dark. So she turned to the waiter and requested him to turn on a bright light so she could at least enjoy the remaining meal.

Deep inside, Mrs. White knew her plea would be rudely dismissed again.

"We can't just light up this whole room just for one guest!" the waiter retorted.

"But I'm not able to make out the nuts...I told you I'm allergic to them."

"That's not my problem, Ma'am. If you cannot finish the food, you can always stop...settle your bill and...leave."

"It's fine. I'll manage with this light," Mrs. White turned back to her meal and quietly ate, almost invisible from the rest of the other happy guests outside.

A while later, she wiped her mouth with the tissue and called out to the waiter.

"Finally! Are you done eating? I'll go get the bill," he said.

"No, I still didn't get my latte. And I want to order something else."

The waiter rolled his eyes. "Something else? I thought you were done. I'll go bring your latte."

Within minutes, Mrs. White was served with her drink. She wanted to place another order but felt the urge to use the restroom. So, she requested the waiter over as she didn't know where the restroom was.

"Could you please help me to the restroom?"

"No...you can't use our restroom. We don't have one specifically for your kind."

"Pardon me?" Mrs. White's eyes shot up in disbelief.

"You heard me, didn't you? Our toilets aren't for people like you...you know...your kind."

"My kind? What do you mean by MY KIND?"

The waiter annoyingly stared at Mrs. White's twisted legs and her wheelchair. He needn't have to say what he meant by 'her kind.' His grim stare and insulting expression conveyed the message to Mrs. White.

"You mean disabled people like me...in the wheelchair?"

The waiter sighed. And at this point, Mrs. White knew she could no longer take this ill-treatment and shaming. So she turned the wheelchair to her right and looked up at the waiter.

"I see! My kind! Tell me, am I the right kind of person to use your restaurant's restroom now?"

The waiter watched in shock and surprise when Mrs. White rose to her feet and stood on the floor.

"Answer me, waiter. Am I good enough to use your toilet, huh? I'm not in a wheelchair anymore."

The waiter froze, and just then, Cassidy overheard the noise emanating from the isolated eating area and hurried to check.

"What's going on? Why is she shouting?"

Cassidy's voice trailed off when she looked at Mrs. White standing on her feet and smiling at her.

"Y-You can stand?" she gasped at seeing the empty wheelchair right behind Mrs. White. "What's going on?"

"Problems...well...your restaurant seems to have plenty of problems!" Mrs. White tossed her shawl on the wheelchair and turned to the two.

"You made a scene by faking like a disabled person in your wheelchair? What the hell do you think you're doing?" Cassidy fumed.

"What the hell am I doing?" Mrs. White lashed out. "Well...you'll know exactly what I'm capable of doing...I'm annoyed by your restaurant's poor service. The disrespect and discrimination I received here anger me...it's beyond pathetic...

...is this how you treat a guest with special needs? Is this the kind of dignity and respect disabled people get at your so-called FIVE-STAR restaurant??"

"Ma'am, stop making a scene. Stop shouting," Cassidy argued. "I'd like you to leave our restaurant right now. Please settle the bills and leave. Out of here."

"Yeah, I'm leaving. But before I go, you two are going to be looking for a new job soon. And hear me out...you're going to regret it BIG TIME!"

Cassidy and the waiter exchanged skeptical glances.

"Move along, lady," Cassidy grinned. "We've got better things to do. We're anticipating the arrival of the state's most influential and famous food critic…

"…He's on his way to give us a rave review. And once we get that golden review from him, nobody...not you...or your ancestors can stop us from being successful and famous."

"Oh, is he? You mean the famous food critic, Loyola?" Mrs. White smiled.

"Yes! This whole arrangement tonight is for him. So before he comes, waiter, why don't you just help this shabby-looking lady to the entrance after she settles the bill?"

"Perfect! You don't have to take all that trouble. I'm leaving on my own," Mrs. White retorted. "...I'm sure readers and customers looking forward to my reviews would be glad to read about my next review on The Flaming Fork."

Cassidy's face fell. So did the waiter's! And before they could fathom her words, Mrs. White spilled the beans on who she really was.

"I'm J. Loyola...the food critic!" she burst the bubble. "My last name is not White...and I'm your last guest of honor coz your game in the food business is OVER! Any last words?"

The waiter's eyes bulged in shock. So did Cassidy's as she stuttered, "No, that can't be. The food critic, Mr. Loyola...he's a man. You're lying."

"Oh really? Have you ever seen this 'critic' before? Or is it just one of your stupid assumptions?" Mrs. Loyola gave a cold reply. "Well, let me make the job easier for you."

Mrs. Loyola then grabbed her phone and showed the numerous reviews she had posted on her blog under the pseudonym 'Jay Loyola' — Jay indicating the first letter of her actual name.

"Oh, by the way, all of you can start packing your things. This restaurant is going to be closed...forever. Coz I'm going to make sure your license is canceled!" Mrs. Loyola seethed.

"Mrs. Loyola, we're so sorry," Cassidy and the waiter chorused their pleas, their tone low and embarrassed.

"There's been a small misunderstanding. Please reconsider your decision," Cassidy added.

"Oh, well, I perfectly understood what was going on over here. Do you think I'm jobless to waste my time traveling all the way across the country just to review your damn restaurant?

"...I read a lot of negative reviews from disabled customers who were poorly treated in your restaurant. I've been receiving letters from people with special needs, saying they're not served well here…

"…sometimes, not even allowed inside to dine with the other guests. They were insulted and discriminated against. So I had to intervene and verify their reviews in person before sharing my opinion with the world."

"Mrs. Loyola, that's not true...there's got to be some mistake...we'll post a public apology on our social media page to all those customers who were treated poorly...we're sorry. We'll also bend our policies for such disabled guests...and make sure they're treated well in the future. This won't happen again."

"Oh no, it won't! You know what? I'm glad I came here," Mrs. Loyola grimly stared at them. "Get ready to pull down the shutters of your restaurant permanently...

"And I hope this will teach rude restaurant managers and staff like you...and those rude customers who can't bother respecting people with disabilities instead of looking down upon them…

"Let me tell you something...the biggest disability is not about having a defect in the body. It's when you lack respect for people from all walks of life in your heart. I hope you now understand who the really disabled ones here are!"

Mrs. Loyola sidled past the two and walked away. Suddenly, she pulled out her cell phone and quickly snapped a photo of Cassidy and the waiter standing behind the wheelchair she had abandoned.

"Perfect...this picture will go on the cover page. I'm sure my readers and all those customers who faced discrimination here will finally be happy to see their discriminators' defeated faces!"

The following day, Mrs. Loyola's review of The Flaming Fork was scorching indeed! Her honest opinions of the eatery started spreading like wildfire!

Soon after, the elite five-star restaurant was forced to close down permanently, leaving its reputation and business in tatters.

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