Everly was informed she was “too elderly” and “inappropriately” dressed for a trendy restaurant at the age of 82. Her answer? a widely shared Facebook post that caused controversy and called for reform. My name is Everly, and even at eighty-two, I still like taking on new challenges. My daughter Nancy surprised me at my little garden business on a lovely Thursday morning. Her idea was even more unexpected than her presence. “Mum, let us check out that new restaurant downtown,” she exclaimed, her excitement at getting to experience something new showing in her bright eyes.
Both of us were dressed simply; I was wearing my go-to khaki slacks and flowery blouse—nothing spectacular, just comfy and clean. Nancy had on a T-shirt and jeans. For us, the most important thing was having fun with one other rather than how we dressed. As we traveled, we excitedly talked about the restaurant, wanting to create new memories with each other. We had no idea that our straightforward excursion was about to take an unexpected turn.
Nancy and I entered the restaurant amid a flurry of chatter and contemporary music. People were conversing over their lunches in a lively setting. We saw that the younger crowd around us was well-dressed, which contrasted with our plain clothes. However, since we were there for the meal and the experience, we did not mind. After entering, we had not gone far when I saw the host’s eyes dart over us. His smile wavered for an instant, then he straightened out. He showed us to a table by the window, which was the ideal location to take in the busy street scene.
No sooner had we settled in than a young waiter approached. His expression was courteous at first, but it altered as he observed us. With less than regretful tone, he said, “I am sorry, but this place might not be suitable for you.” His stinging, unwanted words lingered in the air. You seem to be too old for our usual clientele,” he continued, “and your attire really isn’t appropriate for the ambiance we aim for here.” Nancy’s face turned red with shock and anger. I felt a sting in my heart—judged and dismissed, not for who I was, but how I looked and my age.
The waiter didn’t stop there. “We are sorry to say this, but you should leave our restaurant so as not to spoil the appetite of our guests,” he added harshly. Before we could even respond, he gestured towards the door. Two burly bodyguards approached, their presence reinforcing his words.
The humiliation was immediate and deep. I looked around, seeing the eyes of other patrons on us, some curious, others indifferent. Nancy grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight. We stood up to leave quietly with the waiter’s piercing words echoing in our minds. My heart was heavy, not just with embarrassment but with a profound sadness at being judged so harshly in a place where we had hoped to find joy. Not only was I embarrassed, but I also felt deeply saddened by the harsh judgment we received at a place where we had expected to find happiness.