She knew that a table like this could mean a substantial tip—the kind of money that would cover her mother’s pharmacy bill for the next three months. Her mother had recently messaged her about the rising cost of living and the need for a new generator. Every dirham, every dollar, was a lifeline. Elena approached the table with a professional smile, her tablet ready.
She greeted them in perfect English, showing the quiet respect expected in a five-star establishment. Rashid barely looked at her. To him, she was just another face in a uniform, a temporary fixture there to serve his needs. He continued his conversation, discussing a multi-million dollar real estate deal and laughing at an inside joke. Elena waited patiently, her feet aching after an eight-hour shift, but her posture remained perfect.
Finally, Rashid signaled for her. The men began ordering, calling out expensive vintages and specialty dishes. Elena took the order with precision, clarifying details and ensuring everything was exactly to their liking. She demonstrated the kind of competence that usually goes unnoticed by men of Rashid’s stature.
As she finished taking the order and prepared to leave, Rashid stopped her. There was a glint in his eye—the look of a man looking for a bit of sport. He turned to his friends and said something in Arabic, sparking a round of laughter. Elena didn’t react, but she recognized the tone. They were talking about her as if she were a piece of furniture.
Rashid leaned back, eyeing Elena with a patronizing smirk. He spoke loudly in Arabic, his voice full of unearned authority. He made a comment that was clearly intended to be a joke at her expense, and the table fell silent, waiting to see if the “pretty girl from the north” would show any sign of discomfort.
Comments are closed.