Off The Record
I Defended An Elderly Café Cleaner From A Rude Rich Man—The Next Day, My Boss Wanted To See Me
I believed I had witnessed every possible act of brutality. However, nothing prepared me to witness an elderly grandmother being humiliated by a wealthy man with a mop bucket. I had no idea that the day after I stood up for her in that café, I would end myself in my boss’s office.
I was exhausted by the time Thursday night finally arrived. I had been talking nonstop for twelve hours, and my voice had become hoarse from parent-teacher conferences that had lasted past eight. My feet hurt. Chalk dust was probably on my face as well as in my hair.
Going home and attempting to find the motivation to prepare anything edible while staring at an empty refrigerator was the last thing I wanted to do. Instead, I pulled into Willow & Co. Café’s parking lot.
It’s one of those settings when you truly feel like an adult. The ambient jazz music and cozy lights create a positive atmosphere. The aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread envelops you.
That was what I needed. Just half an hour of acting like I wasn’t someone who spent her days resolving arguments over crayons and explaining why glue isn’t allowed.
I entered the line at the counter after walking in with my luggage weighing heavily on my shoulder. Perhaps a dozen more people were strewn about, some using laptops, some going on dates, and some simply eating in silence.
At that moment, I heard a terrible sound.
“Are you completely blind, or just stupid?”
The tone was cutting and piercing. Even if they are not the target, the tone makes everyone in the room anxious.
I moved in the direction of the noise.
An old woman in a cleaning uniform was being glared down at by a man standing close to the entrance. She might have been older than 70, but she couldn’t have been younger. She had a slightly bent back and was holding a mop handle in her hands. A bucket of soapy water rested at her feet, and a yellow “Wet Floor” sign stood next to her.
The man was dressed in a suit that was likely more expensive than my rent each month. His shoes shone in the café lights, and his tie was knotted flawlessly. He exuded entitlement and wealth in every way.
The woman, “I’m so sorry, sir,” said. Although her voice wavered, it also had a steady quality. As if she’d learnt to maintain her dignity when apologizing, having done so countless times. “I only have to sweep this area one last time. It will only take a few seconds.”
He angrily remarked, “I don’t care what you need to do, lady,” “Your trash is always left all over the place. How inconvenient is this, do you know?”
Her fingers clenched around the mop as she backed up a little. “I apologize. If you let me, I can move.”
“Yeah, you should’ve thought of that before blocking the entire walkway.”
He passed away before she could say anything further. Not a soft prod. A complete kick.
The unfortunate woman’s trousers were soaked as water splashed across the marble floor and over the sides. Her face turned pale as she gasped and staggered back a little.
When he said, “Now look at what you made me do,” he was icy. “Clean that up. That’s your work, right?”
There was utter silence in the café. Everyone looked. A few looked at each other uncomfortably. However, no one took any action. No one spoke.
except from me.
I had no idea what happened to me. Perhaps it was fatigue. Or perhaps it was 20 years of witnessing children being bullied and realizing that bullies only get stronger when people remain silent. Perhaps it was just common sense.
Before my mind could keep up with my movements, I moved over. “Excuse me, that was completely out of line.”
The man slowly turned to face me, as if he was still in shock that he was being addressed. He raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I heard you. There was nothing wrong with her. You had the option to avoid her.”
He looked at me for a long time, his face changing from astonishment to contempt. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“No,” I responded with my arms crossed. “But I know exactly what kind of person you are.”
He tightened his jaw. Some of the individuals around the counter laughed quietly. And “Oh snap!” was murmured.
A dark red flush came over the obnoxious man’s cheeks. “This is none of your business.”
“It became my business the second you kicked her bucket like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum.”
He parted his lips, then shut them again. I briefly believed that he might yell at me. Rather, he snatched up his briefcase and rushed to the door.
“Unbelievable,” he whispered to himself. “Absolutely unprofessional.”
Behind him, the door banged.
For another beat, the café was silent. The hum of chatter then gradually resumed. Pretending they hadn’t just seen anything, many returned to their laptops and coffee.
However, the old woman remained motionless, gazing at the pool of water that was forming on the floor.
I approached her and crouched next to the bucket that had spilled.
“Are you okay?” Gently, I inquired.
Her eyes were blurry as she nodded. “You ought not to have spoken. Such people never change.”
My response was, “Maybe not,” and I picked up a stack of napkins from an adjacent table. “But that doesn’t mean we stay silent when someone’s being cruel.”
She gave me a look. Her eyes were a gentle blue, friendly, and exhausted. Her eyes were the type that had witnessed a great deal of life and had not allowed it to tarnish her.
She murmured softly, “You’re going to get yourself in trouble one day,” but there was a little smirk on the corner of her lips.
“Probably,” I said. “But at least I’ll sleep okay tonight.”
Together, we mopped up the water. She moved slowly and deliberately as she worked. Whenever she leaned too far, I could see her wince. Seeing her made my heart hurt.
As soon as the floor had dried, I got up and wiped my knees. “Wait here for a second.”
I ordered a little box of pastries as I made my way to the desk. Just a chocolate croissant and a couple of Danishes, nothing spectacular.
I pushed the box into her hands when I returned. “This is it. Later. A sweet treat after a difficult day.”
Her gaze expanded. “Oh, you don’t need to…”
“I want to,” I firmly stated. “Please.”
She simply held the box for a moment, gazing down at it as though it were a priceless object. Her entire face softened as she raised her head to meet me.
She remarked, “You remind me of someone,” “One of my former students. Always taking the side of the underdog. constantly attempting to put things right.”
I grinned. “Then maybe your lessons stuck.”
Her voice was warm and sincere as she chuckled quietly. “Maybe they did.”
It wasn’t until the following morning that I gave that night any more thought.
The intercom came alive while I was in my classroom going through attendance records and attempting to recall whether I had truly graded the spelling tests from the previous week.
“Erin, please report to Principal Bennett’s office.”
I felt sick to my stomach. God, please. What was it I did?
I made a mental to-do list. Was there a meeting I missed? messed up an email to a parent? Did I say something inappropriate during a conference?
Then I had a worse idea. What if I was on camera at the café? Did our school have a parent like the terrible man? Would I get fired for making a scene in public if he had complained?
With my heart racing, I staggered down the hallway.
Principal Bennett’s secretary smiled and waved me through when I arrived at the office. Isn’t that a positive sign? When you’re going to lose your job, people don’t grin.
The door was knocked on.
“Come in.”
I entered. Standing behind his desk with his hands clasped in front of him was Principal Bennett. The kind of principal who remembered every student’s name and attended every school play, he was a tall, gentle man with graying hair.
“Erin,” he said affectionately. “I appreciate you coming. Please take a seat.”
I gripped my knees with my hands as I sat on the chair’s edge. “Is everything okay?”
Saying, “Everything’s fine,” he grinned. “It’s actually better than fine. I had a question for you. Yesterday evening, were you at Willow & Co. Café?”
I gasped. “Yes. I was.”
“And did you happen to stand up for an elderly cleaning woman when a man was being rude to her?”
Oh no. Alas, alas, alas.
I said, “I did,” and braced myself. “I apologize if that led to any issues. I didn’t intend to.”
He extended a hand. “Stop, Erin. You’re not having any problems.”
I blinked. “I’m not?”
“Not even close.” His smile widened. “Actually, someone wanted to thank you in person.”
The door behind me opened before I could ask him what he meant.
I froze after turning around.
The old woman entered from the café.
She was not, however, dressed in her cleaning outfit. Her silver hair was carefully pinned back, and she wore a floral dress over a soft blue cardigan. She appeared quite different in the morning light coming in through the window; she was serene, elegant, and nearly glowing.
My jaw dropped. “You?”
Her eyes wrinkled at the corners as she grinned. “Hello again, dear.”
Principal Bennett pointed in her direction. “Erin, I’d like you to meet my mother, Ruth.”
I gazed, perplexed. “Your mother?”
He nodded, obviously taking pleasure in my surprise. Even though she hasn’t taught in nearly 30 years, she still finds being at home boring. She so accepted a part-time position at the café. claims it keeps her occupied.
Ruth gave a little laugh. “Sitting still has never come naturally to me. I guess it’s old habits.”
I was still processing this when she moved in and took a good look at my face.
“I recognize you now that I’m seeing you in the right light,” she added softly. Erin. You were my first-grade student at Ridge Creek Elementary.
My heart stopped beating. “You taught me?”
She grinned as she nodded. “I used to get flowers from the playground from you, the small girl.” “You called them’sunshine weeds.'”
This brought back memories of sitting cross-legged on a reading rug with a patient woman with loving blue eyes, gathering dandelions during recess because I felt my teacher deserved something pretty, and the scent of crayons and construction paper.
“Miss Ruth,” I said in a whisper. “Oh my God… it’s… it’s you!”
Her eyes were sparkling. “You remembered.”
My voice broke as I said, “I can’t believe I forgot,” “You were the one who told me that kindness always counts, even when nobody’s watching.”
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. And yesterday, you demonstrated that. When others remained mute, you defended a stranger. That requires bravery.
Principal Bennett appeared delighted as he crossed his arms and leaned on his desk. “I felt I needed to know who you were as soon as Mom informed me what had happened. This morning, I visited the café and looked at their security footage. I was shocked when I realized it was you.”
Ruth grinned. “I told him, ‘That’s the kind of person we need more of in this world.'”
“So,” continued Principal Bennett, “I have an idea. A position as a classroom assistant has been available for a few weeks. Additionally, Mom has been eager to return to a school setting. I therefore made her an offer for the job. She begins work on Monday.”
Tears pricked my eyes as I gazed at Ruth. “You’re coming back?”
She gave a nod. “Looks like I’m not done teaching after all!”
I heard laughter coming from down the hall on Monday of the next week while I was getting my classroom ready for the day. Ruth was seated cross-legged on the reading rug in Mrs. Peterson’s first-grade classroom, with half a dozen children around her, when I peered out.
She guided a young girl’s finger around a page of a picture book she held in her lap.
Gently, “Try again, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Listen to it. You’re almost there.”
The young girl narrowed her eyes at the paper. “C-a-t. Cat!”
“Perfect!” Ruth smiled. “You see? I had faith in your abilities.”
The silver in her hair caught the sunlight that poured in through the windows. Something warm and overwhelming squeezed my chest as she appeared so comfortable and totally in her element there.
Tears pricked my eyes as I watched her from the doorway.
I believed I was standing up for a stranger that night at the café, as any decent person would. I was not, however, protecting a stranger. I was defending the woman who had initially shown me how to be brave.
Ruth visited my classroom during lunch later that week. She held two coffee cups and gently knocked on the doorframe.
She handed one to me and said, “Thought you could use this,”
I accepted it with gratitude. “You’re a lifesaver.”
With her knees almost at her chest, she took a seat on one of the small student seats. Even though it should have looked absurd, it ended up looking cute.
“You know,” she remarked while drinking her coffee, “I’ve been thinking about that night at the café.”
“Me too,” I confessed…
“That man,” she added, refusing to acknowledge him. “I’ve spent my entire life interacting with folks like him. Those who despise others and believe that being compassionate is a sign of weakness.”
I gave a nod. “It’s exhausting.”
“It is,” she concurred. However, this is what I’ve discovered. Do people like him? They are unhappy. To feel powerful, they must destroy others. However, others like you? “You give others hope. And they will never comprehend that type of power.”
“I just couldn’t stand there and watch.”
“I know.” She touched my hand as she reached over. “You are a teacher for that reason. You’re skilled at this because of this. Because you refuse to let people be invisible when you see them.”
I wiped my eyes and chuckled. “Now you’re going to make me cry in front of my students.”
She smiled. “It wouldn’t be the initial instance. In first grade, you also cried a lot.”
We both chuckled.
She got up to go, but stopped at the door. “I’m grateful, Erin. For keeping in mind the importance of compassion. even when it’s difficult. particularly when it’s challenging.”
“Thank you,” I muttered. “For teaching me that in the first place.”
She gave another smile before vanishing down the corridor.
I pondered how odd and lovely life can be while I sat there for a while, staring at my coffee. Even when we lose sight of their origins, the lessons we acquire as kids stick with us. Occasionally, the people we assist are the same ones who have assisted us in the past.
It’s never a bad idea to stand up for someone, anyone.
Because being kind is more than just what we do. It is a trait we inherit. from instructor to pupil. from one stranger to another. And from one moment of brokenness to another. And if we’re fortunate, it occasionally reappears just when we need it most.
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