The Friday night rush at Flavors of the World was always a whirlwind.
As a waitress, I thrived in the energy—the clatter of cutlery, the laughter bouncing off walls, and the steady hum of conversation. But what I loved most? Hearing the medley of languages from our diverse guests as they ordered from our international menu.
There was one couple I looked forward to every week: Amanda and Andrew. Like clockwork, they showed up every Friday.
Amanda had a warm, gentle energy and eyes that sparkled with curiosity. What fascinated me most about her was her talent for languages.
She’d order in whatever native language the dish originated from, and her pronunciation was always impeccable—be it Mandarin, Spanish, Italian, or German.
One evening, she greeted me with a cheerful “Buonasera,” and followed it with, “Potrei avere gli gnocchi alla sorrentina, per favore?”
I smiled, impressed. “Certamente, signora. Ottima scelta!”
Andrew, however, was another story. He was tall, conventionally attractive, and carried himself with a smug superiority that made my skin crawl.
Every time Amanda spoke, he’d interrupt with his own mangled attempts at “correcting” her.
“It’s not ‘nyocky,’” he’d groan. “It’s ‘guh-nocky.’ Honestly, Amanda, you sound ridiculous.”
I’d clench my jaw and say nothing. Keeping quiet meant keeping tips.
Amanda would shrink a bit with every remark. “Sorry, I thought—”
“You didn’t think,” he’d snap. “Just order normally next time.”
This cycle repeated weekly. Amanda would order with grace and accuracy, and Andrew would belittle her efforts.
“Ich hätte gerne das Wiener Schnitzel, bitte,” Amanda once said with flawless German.
Andrew snorted. “It’s ‘weiner snitchel,’ Amanda. Quit trying to be fancy.”
It hurt to watch her light dim little by little. Someone so clearly gifted and passionate, being torn down by the person she loved.
But then one Friday changed everything.
Amanda’s usual bright smile was forced when she and Andrew walked in. Following them were two new faces—an older couple I instantly recognized as Andrew’s parents.
I greeted them, notepad ready. “Good evening. What can I get started for you?”
Amanda looked down at the menu, hesitated, then said softly, “I’ll have the pho ga, please.”
Andrew rolled his eyes. “It’s ‘foe guh,’ Amanda. Must you always sound so full of yourself?”
Her cheeks flushed red. “I’m sorry. I just—”
“Don’t mind her,” Andrew told his parents. “She loves showing off.”
His mother smiled thinly. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said to Amanda, “are you always this much of a bragger? Can’t you just speak normally?”
My hand tightened around my pen. Amanda looked ready to vanish into her seat.
Andrew leaned over and muttered—loud enough for me to hear—“Stop humiliating me. Talk like a normal person.”
That was the last straw.
“Nín hǎo,” I said to Andrew in crisp Mandarin. “Qǐng bùyào rúcǐ cūlǔ de duìdài nín de nǚpéngyǒu.”
Andrew stared at me, stunned. Amanda looked up in awe, surprise overtaking the pain in her eyes.
“Xièxiè nǐ,” Amanda responded fluently. “Zhè duì wǒ yìyì zhòngdà.”
Andrew blinked. “What’s happening? What are you saying?”
I turned to him calmly. “I asked you not to be so rude to your girlfriend. Amanda thanked me. She said it meant a lot.”
“You’re lying!” he snapped. “You’re making that up to humiliate me!”
“Son,” his father began.
“No!” Andrew barked. “Amanda, what did she really say?”
Amanda straightened, her voice steady. “She told you not to treat me so poorly. And I told her thank you. Because I’m tired of you making me feel ashamed for something I love.”
“What, now you think you’re smarter than everyone?” he scoffed.
“No,” she said. “But I’ve studied languages for years. Just because you don’t understand them doesn’t mean they’re meaningless—or that I’m wrong to use them.”
Andrew’s mother tried to smooth things over. “Sweetheart, maybe tone it down a bit? You don’t need to show off all the time.”
Amanda met her gaze. “Using what I’ve worked hard to learn isn’t showing off. Would you say that to someone playing an instrument beautifully?”
“Well… that’s different,” she murmured.
“How?” Amanda pressed.
Andrew’s father tried again. “Let’s not argue. I’m sure—”
“No, Dad,” Andrew said sharply. “Let her finish. Go on, Amanda.”
Amanda took a breath. “This isn’t about showing off. It’s about respect—for other cultures, for learning, and for me.”
“Respect?” Andrew scoffed. “What about respecting me? Do you know how embarrassing it is when you start jabbering in some foreign language?”
“Embarrassing for you,” Amanda said. “Because you don’t understand? Maybe the issue isn’t what I’m saying—but your attitude about it.”
The whole restaurant had gone quiet. Andrew’s mother cleared her throat. “Perhaps we should leave.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Amanda said and stood. “And I’ll be going home—alone.” She turned to me. “Thank you for your kindness. Grazie mille. Danke schön. Muchas gracias!”
With her head held high, she walked out. I smiled as Andrew and his parents scurried behind her, thoroughly humbled.
The next Friday, I was shocked—and thrilled—to see Amanda return, this time alone.
“Table for one?” I asked.
She beamed. “Yes, please. And I’d love to talk, if you have time.”
After seating her and taking her order, I sat for a minute.
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“Better than ever,” she said. “I broke up with Andrew the next day.”
“That must’ve been hard.”
“It was. But also freeing. I realized I’d been shrinking myself to avoid his judgment. When I ended things, he couldn’t believe it.”
“What’d he say?”
Amanda laughed. “‘You’re making a mistake, Amanda. Who’s going to put up with your show-off behavior?’ Can you believe that?”
I shook my head, smiling. “And what did you say?”
“I said, ‘Someone who values intelligence and curiosity. Someone who isn’t you.’”
I grinned. “Good for you.”
Amanda laughed. “Your support gave me the push I needed. I’d forgotten how much I love languages, how much they meant to me.”
“I’m glad,” I said. “No one should ever make you feel small for loving something deeply.”
Amanda nodded. “And guess what? I’m applying for a translator job—something I’ve always dreamed about but was too afraid to pursue.”
“That’s incredible! Where?”
“At a nonprofit that helps refugees. They need fluent, multilingual translators. It’s the perfect fit.”
We chatted more, shifting between languages, enjoying the ease of conversation.
As I got up to return to work, Amanda reached for my hand. “Thank you. For everything.”
I squeezed back. “Always. And good luck!”
Sometimes, a small act of kindness is all it takes to help someone reclaim their voice. In a world of many languages, every voice deserves to be heard—clearly and proudly.