I was walking out of the kitchen—that same door where the drinks had spilled on me, carrying a tray to a table in the 500s when a new guy held the door for me. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “There you go, darlin’.”

With hardly a backward glance, I tartly quipped, “Nobody touches me,” and prissed off carrying my tray. I’m fairly sure he chortled, and suffice to say—he would prove me wrong.