It was a typical afternoon at the local café—a cozy little spot that always had a warm, inviting atmosphere. I had been going there for months, enjoying their signature caramel macchiato while getting a little work done on my laptop. On that particular day, I had just settled into my favorite corner seat by the window when I saw her—a woman, likely in her late 40s, with a loud, confident demeanor. She entered the café with her young daughter, scanning the room for a place to sit. I didn’t think much of it at first, but then I noticed her approaching my table.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice sharp as she eyed the empty chair across from me. “Is this seat taken?”
I was caught off guard. I hadn’t seen anyone else even close to my table, and I hadn’t been there long enough to feel possessive about it. But still, I responded politely, “Oh, no, it’s not. I’m just getting some work done.”
She nodded, but instead of moving on, she stood there a little too long, as if considering something. Then, to my shock, she casually slid into the seat across from me without waiting for any further conversation.
“Actually,” she said, a little too forcefully, “I’ll be sitting here. I think it’s the best spot for me and my daughter.”
Before I could process what was happening, she took off her jacket, slung it over the chair, and even began unpacking her things. I blinked, unsure whether she was joking. But no, she wasn’t.
“Uh, excuse me,” I said, trying to remain calm. “I was already sitting here. This is my seat.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, and she smiled condescendingly. “Oh, honey, I don’t think you understand. It’s just a seat. You can find another spot. I’m here with my daughter. I deserve it more.”
I was taken aback. I’d been coming to this café for months, and I had never encountered anyone so audacious. She had no right to just claim the seat like that, and her entitled attitude made my blood boil. But rather than escalating the situation with anger, I decided to teach her a little lesson.
I stood up slowly, grabbed my laptop and coffee, and began to walk toward the counter. “You’re right,” I said with a sly smile, “You do deserve it more. Enjoy.”
I ordered another coffee, but as I was paying, I noticed that the café was now packed—standing room only. My seat, my beloved corner by the window, was still being occupied by this woman and her daughter. I returned to the seating area, carefully picked up my things again, and walked right past her.
“Actually,” I said, my voice firm yet polite, “there’s no reason you should be taking someone else’s spot. If you want, you can move to the back, where there are plenty of open seats.”
Her face turned a shade of crimson. I could see her eyes dart around the room, realizing that the café was now full, and she was being blatantly inconsiderate to everyone else who was waiting for a seat. The weight of the situation hit her.
Without another word, she quickly grabbed her things and moved to a less desirable corner of the café. Her daughter, who had been looking confused throughout the whole exchange, followed reluctantly. As they walked away, I saw her muttering under her breath, but the damage was done.
I returned to my seat, feeling a strange sense of victory. I hadn’t been rude, but I had stood my ground and taught her a little lesson about respect. It wasn’t just about the seat—it was about boundaries and not letting entitled people walk all over you. And for once, I was proud that I didn’t let it slide.
