Every Friday, my husband Richard and I go to Mama Rosa’s, our favorite Italian spot. After 15 years together, it’s our tradition—antipasto, chicken parm, seafood linguine, and shared tiramisu. But last Friday wasn’t like the others. The familiar warmth was missing, and so was Harrison, our usual kind waiter. Instead, a new server greeted us with a cold smile and careless attitude.

From the start, things went wrong. Wrong appetizer, wrong wine—twice—and a missing server for over 25 minutes when we wanted dessert. Still, we kept our cool. When the bill came, I left a modest 10% tip. Not generous, but fair for the poor service. As we grabbed our coats to leave, she stormed toward us, waving the cash.

Loudly, she asked, “Seriously? This is it?” Everyone turned to look. She continued, berating us for being “cheap,” and even insulted me personally, claiming she’d tell the whole restaurant how “greedy” I was if I didn’t tip more. Richard looked stunned. My cheeks burned, but I kept calm.

We turned to leave again, but then she sneered, “Whatever, cheapskates.” That did it. I walked back, snatched the tip from the table, and looked her dead in the eye—saying nothing. I turned and walked out.

Then, something unexpected happened—applause. From several tables. One man even stood and nodded at me. Someone muttered, “Damn right.”

Outside, Richard squeezed my hand. “That was the classiest mic drop I’ve ever seen.”

Now I wonder—was I wrong to take back that tip? Or did I just stand up for myself?