Page 9 of Petite Fleur

I spin back around, going straight for the counter, but unfortunately, I end up in the back of a long line where all I can see is the cashier rolling her eyes at the sight of me.

I would just forget it, throw the meal away, and go home, but this cost me almost $20!

I watch my group of friends as I wait in line, seeing them all slowly finish their food, and a few even leave.

I want to cry. I want to go home.

I know the dining hall is closed already, so getting this replaced is really my only option.

I think I have a few potatoes at home and maybe an apple in the fridge, but that's about it, aside from last week's little stash of peanut butter cookies.

I really don't want another night of eating dining hall cookies for dinner. I always wake up feeling terrible, but that might be what ends up happening.

I know the girls and Sean will want to go out drinking when they're done eating. I hadn't planned to join them for that, so they'll probably leave without waiting for me.

Heck, they'll probably leave before I even get my food, so I'll either be eating alone or going home to eat.

Finally, when it's my turn, I step to the register with a friendly smile on my face and my inedible food in hand.

The cashier plasters on a fake smile as she greets me and asks what's wrong, but I can see the annoyance on her face and theway her hand clutches the counter so tightly that her knuckles are white.

I try to explain the issue without sounding like a butthead, but I know I'm annoying her. I see it on her face the second I mention my celiac and point out that soy sauce isn't safe for me.

She gives me a half-hearted apology accompanied by a snooty response about common sense, telling me that stir fry has soy sauce. She huffs and rolls her eyes when I point out that the menu offers a gluten-free option, walking off toward the back without a word.

I'm left standing there like a fool for several minutes, feeling more awkward and more uncomfortable the longer I stand here, but at this point, I've committed to it.

After a few minutes of standing at the counter, contemplating my life choices for the day, Shelby joins me at my side and slings an arm around my waist. “Hey, darling, we're about to head to the bar. Are you meeting us there?” She asks sweetly.

I knew eating alone was a very real possibility, but now I just want to cry. I like solitude, but sometimes I miss having people around. Sometimes, I want to know what it feels like not to eat in silence.

I shake my head and offer her a small smile, one I know isn't all that convincing, but it's all I have. “Uh, no. You guys go ahead, I'm just going to head home after this, but text me in the morning.” I answer.

Shelby quickly shakes her head and turns her attention to the group to wave them off. “I'm not going if you're not, we'll both go home and do whatever you had planned. What are we waiting for anyway?” She asks sweetly.

Wow, none of my friends have ever skipped the bar to hang out with me. I don't even think Carlie knows how to skip the bar.

“My food was wrong; the lady went to ask what could be done about it.” I loosely explain.

Shelby and I stand together for a few more minutes, forcing me to ignore that everyone in line behind me is getting a little antsy to be left waiting for so long, but it's not my fault.

Maybe they should've had more than one cashier on a busy Friday evening on a college campus.

The cashier comes back with a huff, offering me an excuse that seems rehearsed and annoyed. She says that they'd run out of tamari and that nobody before me had ever complained, but she offers a refund that I happily take.

After the attitude and them knowingly tricking people, I don't trust this place anymore, but I am thankful I'm not stuck paying for a meal I can't even eat.

Shelby and I head out on foot toward my apartment after I've gotten my refund. It's only a mile, but I know I'll be sweating like a fool by the time we get back, I just hope Shelby doesn't notice when I start huffing and puffing halfway back.

Sometimes, I hate the Texas heat. Wait, I take that back; I always hate the Texas heat.

It's unnatural for humidity to be this high, or at least it should be.

Shelby and I make small talk while we walk together, but I stop when I see a young woman with a handmade cardboard sign asking for money to buy food; this works out perfectly.

I squat down to her level and throw the change from my bag into her cup. "Hi, would you like my meal? It's stir fry, I haven't touched it, I promise." I say sweetly to this woman.

She happily takes the small plastic container from me and starts to dig in with a plastic fork she already had with her other belongings. "Bless you, sweet girl." She says warmly.

---