My grandfather was insulted by his entitled parents in his own restaurant, and Karma made them pay 20 times the menu price for it.
A family-run eatery in a quaint Spanish village unexpectedly became the scene of a cross-cultural conflict. This happened as a result of a demanding tourist family’s after-hours service request. They made fun of the old owner of the eatery, which was well-known for its traditional food and cozy ambiance. However, they paid a price for their lack of respect and awareness of regional norms.
Hello to everyone! I want to tell you a story about a little restaurant in Asturias, Spain, that is owned by a family. It’s actually my grandparents’ house, tucked away in a tiny thirty-person town.
Every summer, I visit there to help out, gather family recipes, and generally observe the rural way of life. Since it is just at the foot of our house and has been there since 1941, the restaurant is particularly charming and cozy.
This is actually a neighborhood hangout. Throughout the day, neighbors will stop by to chat, play cards, and drink one or two glasses. Even though we’re a little off the main track, we still get a few visitors.
It turned out that this particular summer day was more interesting than usual. Thanks to a family visit that gave us the impression that they were unaware of how things are done around here. Let me tell you what happened.
It was one of those hectic summer days when the sun was warm enough to perfectly warm everything. And our little diner was full with the usual banter and laughing. The majority of our usual locals had settled in for their extended, leisurely afternoon hangouts.
We are a small location with only eight tables inside and a few outside for nice weather. But it’s frequently packed because it doubles as a pub and is really sentimental.
That afternoon, the area was bustling with retirees, having arguments over cards and sipping wine – a sight straight out of a movie, generally. Taking care of people who knew our business hours and making requests for lunch and drinks kept my sister and I very busy.
Around 4 p.m., just as things were starting to calm down, we heard a car pull up. We occasionally have lost travelers, so this is frequent. But what actually happened was nothing like how we usually greet visitors.
When a family finally appeared, it was clear they were agitated right away—possibly from negotiating the winding back roads in our area.
They barged in, gesturing for me to take over as I tend to most of our English-speaking guests while speaking in loud English. This is how events happened.
The mother hurriedly said, “We need a table, and we’re starving,” waving me over as the door shut behind them. Her demanding tone of voice caught me off guard, in addition to her volume.
I approached them, wearing a customer service-style smile, and apologized, but the kitchen had just closed. We only offer supper service till 3 p.m. and once more at 7:30 p.m. I hoped that would have fixed it all, but maybe they might come back later?
The mother, however, was unwilling to accept it. She glanced to my grandpa, who was having his own late lunch quietly, and exclaimed, “If the kitchen’s closed, why is he eating?” My teasing reply was, “Well, he’s the owner, so he kinda eats whenever he wants!”
That did not meet with much favor. The mother’s face twisted slightly, as if she had just bit into a lemon. Without missing a beat, she yelled, “Are you giving us a table or not? Wi-Fi will also be necessary.
“The Wi-Fi is only for staff,” I emphasized in the most courteous manner I could. In actuality, guests are not supposed to use it.
This infuriated the father, who exclaimed, “What the heck?!? We have paying clients.” Their little one started getting restless, and before I knew it, he was running about and getting into mischief.
My grandfather decided to step in when it became clear that things were not going well.
Wiping his hands on his apron, my grandfather, who has always remained composed in the face of mayhem, went to where the family was seated.
In a firm but sympathetic way, he asked them to please quiet down and stop their child from running around since it was disturbing the other visitors.
The mother’s sharp reply was, “DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME HOW TO RAISE MY CHILD, YOU DINOSAUR!” When she yelled loudly enough, everyone in the room looked at her. The father became enraged and pointed violently at my grandfather, yelling, “DON’T GET CLOSE TO MY CHILD, YOU OLD CREEP!”
All was quiet in the restaurant for a short period. One could feel the tension in the room. That rare instance where everything looked to be working in perfect unison. The other patrons, who were locals and familiar with my grandpa, looked on in dismay at the callous behavior aimed at someone they respected much.
My grandfather, unflappable, simply nodded before crossing the room to rejoin our family. I followed, feeling both angry and ashamed. It was then that he decided this family should move out.
He made a gesture to two men who happened to be off-duty Guardia Civil officers sat at a nearby table, and he explained the situation gently.
Seeing the need for etiquette, the officers stood up and approached the family. They announced themselves as law enforcement and put on their badges. They insisted that the family behave politely but firmly in order to respect other guests and the establishment’s rules.
After realizing how bad things were, the parents grudgingly began packing. Just as the family was about to leave, the police found further evidence that made their troubles worse.
The family reluctantly started to move towards the exit when one of the officers looked out the window and noticed something. The family’s car was parked in front of our restaurant’s garage, totally blocking it. It was extremely clear that parking was not allowed there—it was necessary to enter and exit our property.
The police pointed out the offense and brought the family outside. The father tried to brush it off, claiming that it was just a brief halt and they hadn’t noticed the signage. However, things became extremely strange when the police started to examine the rental car’s paperwork and discovered further discrepancies.
The family became increasingly irate as the police took great care to explain the consequences of their actions. Following their photo shoot of the improperly parked car, they began the process of creating a ticket. It appears that obstructing access to a private property came at a high cost—200 euros, to be precise.
Once inside, the locals whispered to one another, feeling happy that justice was being served yet disapproving of the foreigners’ acts. My grandfather, however, had returned to his meal with a look of quiet satisfaction.
When the family finally departed, there was a discernible change in the ambiance of the restaurant. Drinks clinking and laughter reignited, as people resumed conversing with one another. The officers nodded to my grandfather as he raised his glass in thanks, knowing that their work was done.
The parents had not only hurt our family’s sentiments, but they had also disrupted the peace in our little community. But in the end, they paid a high price for their disrespect and lack of comprehension. Twenty times what a meal would have cost them.
This issue was not limited to our eatery. It became somewhat of a folktale for the area, a story recounted to show the consequences of breaking the rules that govern our society.
It was more than simply a nasty family getting in trouble; it was about protecting one’s honor and the community spirit.
By sharing this story, I want not to create a bad impression on all visitors who come from different backgrounds or cultures. Most of our visitors are polite and eager to learn about our culture and make the most of everything we have to offer.
But this particular case was different. It turned out to be a beautiful lesson on how respecting people and their traditions is universal, no matter where one lives.
I am grateful to each and every person who has read this. If you have any similar experiences, please share them with me; I’d love to hear your thoughts! So let’s carry on the conversation and spread kindness and respect wherever we are in the world.
If you enjoyed the story of the waitress who took out her frustration with a harsh customer on someone else, you might also enjoy this one about community and support.
This work is inspired by real people and events, however it has been fictionalized for artistic purposes. Names, personalities, and facts have been changed to protect privacy and better the plot. Any resemblance to actual persons—living or deceased—or actual events is wholly coincidental and was not the author’s goal.
The author and publisher make no promises on the accuracy of the events or character portrayals and release each other from all liability for misinterpretation. The ideas expressed in this narrative are those of the characters; they do not always reflect the author’s or publisher’s opinions. The narrative is provided “as is.”