*clank*
*clank*
"Thank you for choosing to dine with us. Unfortunately, I must ask you to leave. As we only served the appetizers, your money will be refunded and a bit more for the inconvenience."
"What the fuck?" A middle-aged man in expensive looking black suit stares dumbfoundedly as the young man in chef's clothes standing at his table grabs the corners of his table's tablecloth before wrapping all the plates, wineglasses, and the utensils on the table with it.
Rage brewing in his chest, "What's your problem?", he slowly stands up.
"What's yours?" The young chef asks in return, his hand on his hips.
"Do you know who I am?" The middle-aged customer steps closer to the chef.
"No. Who are you?" The young chef asks, unbothered by the invasion of his personal space.