Page 15 of The Princess and the Nerd

"I'm here to read the meter to determine your water usage for the bill,” says the man.

"Oh, okay,” I respond. “Yeah, go right ahead."

Heading back to the kitchen, I sit down, crestfallen. Dez and Robbie look at me expectantly.

“Water meter guy,” I explain.

“Maybe we’ll have better luck tomorrow,” Robbie says gently.

* * *

The next day, it’s the same thing.

At the very least, I received a text from one of my brothers that cheered us up slightly.

Wonderful Brother

Hey Will—this is last minute, but feel like catering my upcoming wedding?

Our caterer cancelled. =(

It was totally a pity offer. I bet the caterer didn’t cancel at all. But Spruce is kind that way, and at this point, we’ll take anything we can get. At least it’s a paying job.

"Customers?" Robbie asks, after hours have passed and a car has finally pulled into our driveway.

An elderly white couple walk up to the front door, and when I see that they aren’t holding any clipboards or wearing a service uniform, I rush to greet them. "Thanks for joining us this evening. I know we've had some bad press, so we appreciate your loyalty."

"Of course, Miss Wintergreen. We actually loved your politics, and that's why we're here."

"My politics?" I ask them politely. "I don't think the article mentioned anything about my politics."

"We don't like to eat in establishments where there are people of color, either! It just brings such a nasty element into a nice atmosphere, don't you think?"

"Uhhhh," I respond, clearing my throat. "I'm not sure that's entirely accurate. I think you may have gotten the wrong impression about this place from the article."

"Nonsense, you're part of a respectable family, and you're a classy, sophisticated young lady of good breeding—like us. We are happy to support your cause and your selectiveness. You’re one of us.”

“Oh… no, no, no,” I say quietly, feeling like these people think I had a cotillion or debutante ball in the South, about a hundred years ago. “This is a restaurant where we welcome all human beings. Of every color and ethnicity."

“I know you just have to say that to keep up appearances, but it’s okay if it’s not true,” the old woman says with a giggle.

“No, it’s true,” I insist. “We serve everyone.”

"But not disabled people right?" the old man whispers. "I saw that you didn't have a wheelchair ramp in the front. Good job. No one needs all this woke-culture accessibility ablism-crap."

"What the actual fuck," I whisper to myself hoarsely, letting my eyes drift up to the ceiling. They are our only customers so far today. I really shouldn't send them away. I really shouldn't. I shouldn't...

“We actually do have a wheelchair ramp, and it’s in the back. Totally ADA compliant. You would probably feel more comfortable in a different establishment," I tell them.

"What do you mean, dear?" the old woman asks.

"I mean we aren't actually racist bigots here like the article described. I'm sorry if that's the experience you were looking for,” I tell her with a smile, guiding her back to the door.

The elderly couple seems confused. Until Robbie steps out.

"Why is there a Mexican here?” the old man whispers. “For shame! I thought this was a sophisticated place.”

“Okay. Please leave now,” I tell them gently, almost physically pushing them out.

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