A bartender looked toward Thomas. Thomas was already moving. He approached table 17 slowly. "Mr. Chen."
Wei looked up. Thomas kept his voice low. "Can we talk for a moment?"
Wei glanced around. The dining room was watching. He stood. Thomas led him several steps away from the table.
"I need to be clear," Thomas said. "We don't allow guests to throw drinks at employees."
Wei's jaw tightened. "I understand."
"You also need to understand that Darius was doing his job."
Wei looked toward him. "I requested another server, and I explained that we couldn't accommodate the request." Thomas paused. "You then threw water in his face."
Wei said nothing. Thomas didn't lecture him. He simply waited.
Finally, Wei said, "I was frustrated."
Thomas nodded. "I understand that." Then he looked directly at him. "But being frustrated doesn't give you permission to humiliate someone."
Wei's expression changed slightly.
Thomas returned to the host stand. Darius was there, speaking quietly with another customer. He was still working. That seemed to bother Wei more than anything: the young man hadn't broken, hadn't shouted, hadn't begged, hadn't even looked angry. He had simply continued.
Five minutes later, Darius disappeared into the employee restroom. He closed the door, turned on the faucet, and stared at himself in the mirror. The water had stopped dripping, but his shirt was still damp. He took a towel and pressed it against his face. Then he looked at his reflection.
For a moment, he was 13 again, sitting beside his father's hospital bed, listening to a man who knew he didn't have much time left. His father had spoken softly that night: "People will sometimes decide who you are before they know you." Darius had cried. His father had smiled: "Don't spend your life correcting every stranger."
Darius wiped his face. He understood the lesson differently now. His father hadn't been telling him to tolerate disrespect; he had been teaching him to choose his response.
Darius looked at the wet shirt, then quietly laughed to himself. "Okay, Dad." He straightened his collar and went back outside.
Table 17 was finishing dinner. Darius approached with the check. Wei looked up. Neither man spoke for a moment. Then Darius placed the folder on the table. "Whenever you're ready."
Wei looked at him. "You're not angry?"
Darius considered the question. "Yes."
It was the first completely honest answer he'd given all evening. Wei seemed surprised.
Darius continued, "But being angry doesn't mean I have to behave badly."