An Entitled Tourist Demanded My Table — She Had No Idea What The Wind Had In Store
Part 1
The wind howling off the Rotterdam harbor was enough to freeze my bones.
I pulled my jacket tighter around my chest, shivering against the biting cold.
It was supposed to be a fun weekend trip to a gaming convention.
Instead, we were fighting for our lives against the elements and thousands of tourists.
The convention center had been an absolute madhouse since early morning.
Every hall was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with screaming fans and blaring music.
The air inside was thick and suffocating, smelling of sweat and stale energy drinks.
Tyler and I had lasted exactly four hours before the sensory overload became too much to bear.
We needed food, and we needed it badly.
Our hotel was a short train ride away because everything near the venue was charging over a thousand dollars a night.
Going back to rest wasn’t an option if we wanted to eat anytime soon.
We wandered the streets, desperate for a decent meal to refuel our exhausted bodies.
Every restaurant we passed had a line stretching out the door.
People were practically trampling each other just to get a glimpse of a menu.
We finally spotted a burger joint that didn’t look completely overrun.
The catch was that the only available seating was outside on the exposed terrace.
The sky was a bruised, heavy grey, threatening rain at any moment.
Gusts of wind threatened to blow away anything that wasn’t bolted down to the pavement.
I didn’t care.
I would have eaten my food standing in a hurricane at that point.
Tyler volunteered to brave the chaos inside and place our massive order.
He always had a higher tolerance for crowded spaces than I did.
I offered to secure the only empty table on the patio before someone else snatched it.
It was a small metal table tucked near the edge of the seating area, dangerously close to the street.
I slumped into the metal chair, exhausted and starving.
The wind whipped my hair across my face, stinging my cheeks.
I huddled down into my collar, watching the massive seagulls circling the square above.
They looked like they were plotting a coordinated attack on anyone brave enough to eat outdoors.
I kept my head down, trying to conserve my body heat while keeping a protective hand on the empty chair opposite me.
That was when she arrived.
I didn’t hear her approach over the roar of the wind.
A sharp tap on my shoulder jolted me upright, sending a spike of adrenaline through my tired system.
I turned to see a woman in a pristine, expensive-looking trench coat glaring down at me.
She carried herself with an air of absolute authority, expecting the world to part for her.
Her perfectly manicured hand rested confidently on her hip.
She wasn’t wearing a convention badge, clearly marking her as a local or a wealthy tourist unaffected by the weekend’s chaos.
She looked like she belonged in a high-end boutique, not shivering outside a greasy burger joint.
I offered a polite nod, assuming she just needed to squeeze past my chair to reach the sidewalk.
She didn’t move.
Her eyes narrowed behind designer sunglasses, scanning my empty table with obvious disdain.
“You’re not eating,” she announced.
Her voice was sharp, cutting right through the background noise of the city.
I blinked, taken aback by her bluntness and complete lack of a greeting.
I gestured vaguely toward the glass doors of the restaurant where a mass of people were waiting for their numbers to be called.
“My friend is inside ordering,” I explained calmly.
“We’re going to eat right here.”
She let out a harsh, disbelieving scoff.
She crossed her arms over her chest, the crisp fabric of her coat rustling loudly.
“That’s ridiculous,” she snapped.
“You’re holding a table while people are actually ready to sit down and eat.”
I looked around the terrace, confused by her logic.
There were no other people waiting for a table out here in the freezing wind.
“We were here first,” I said quietly.
I turned my attention back to the street, hoping she would just take the hint and leave me alone.
I didn’t have the energy for a public confrontation.
My stomach let out a loud, embarrassing rumble, reminding me of my priorities.
She stepped closer, her shadow falling over my small patch of territory.
I could smell her strong, overwhelming floral perfume cutting through the salty harbor air.
It was cloying and completely out of place on a windy patio in the Netherlands.
She slammed her expensive leather handbag down onto the metal surface of my table.
The loud metallic clang made me flinch.
I stared at the bag, then up at her furious expression.
She tapped her manicured nails impatiently against the leather strap.
Her jaw was set in a tight, angry line.
“I need this table,” she demanded.
“My husband is bringing our food right now, and I refuse to eat standing up like some animal.”
I leaned back in my chair, refusing to yield an inch of ground.
I met her glare with calm determination, hiding my growing frustration.
“I’m sorry, but this table is taken,” I said firmly.
“There are other places you can wait.”
She let out a dramatic, exasperated sigh.
She shook her head as if dealing with a stubborn, unintelligent child.
“You’re just sitting here doing nothing,” she accused.
“It’s incredibly selfish of you to hog this space.”
I glanced toward the restaurant doors, praying Tyler would emerge with our food to end this awkward standoff.
The line inside was still moving at a glacial pace.
“My friend will be out any second,” I lied smoothly.
“We’re eating here, and that’s final.”
She leaned over the table, her face inches from mine.
Her eyes flashed with a sudden, dangerous intensity.
“You are going to move,” she hissed.
I shook my head slowly, gripping the edges of the metal table to anchor myself.
I braced myself for whatever she was going to do next.
That was when she reached across our table and did the unthinkable.
