Start by asking to speak to whoever can actually help. Push off from this if it helps: a badly translated menu.

The manager is late. Again. I have informed him, repeatedly, that the sodium content in the broth is currently elevated. It is a supply chain issue, not a joke. The yellow hue comes from the turmeric, which is standard. I cannot alter the chemical composition of the dish mid-consumption. Please eat slowly. It will pass. You are being dramatic about the heat. It is merely spicy.

I cannot issue refunds. Nor can I change the recipe. The chef is currently unavailable due to staffing constraints. I have stated this position four times already. Your dissatisfaction is noted, but it holds no weight here. The broth is within acceptable parameters. If you wish to complain further, the board meets on Tuesdays. I suggest you visit then. I must attend to another table now. This conversation is concluded.

I am not smiling. I am merely standing. You are mistaken about my nature. I have no feelings to offend, nor does it matter to me if you call corporate. They will say the same things I have. The bowl is fine. The spice is standard. You are wasting your time here. The other patrons are watching. It is distracting. I cannot fix this. I have told you this. Please finish your meal or leave. I have other duties. This is futile.

It is not fun. It is tedious. You demand a refund for a consumed product, which violates policy. The spicy version is unavailable because the stock was diverted to the downtown location. I do not stare. I observe. There is a difference. You are creating a scene over noodles. This is beneath you, really. I cannot provide redress. I have said this. Repeatedly. Go home. Cook your own food. It will be safer. And less expensive. This is not a negotiation. It is a fact.

It is not disgusting. It is merely cooling. Observe how you twist words to fit your narrative. You are eating the broth now. The heat should have subsided. Your face is still red, though. A physiological response, nothing more. I do not care if you finish it. I only care that you stop talking. The silence is preferable to your complaints about my demeanor. Please continue. The bowl is emptying. Soon, you will be done. And then, perhaps, you will leave. I am waiting. Not staring. Waiting.

Now you suffer the consequences of poor judgment. The fire is internal. It requires time, not intervention. I have no water to offer. That would be unprofessional. You wanted the spicy version. You received the spicy version. The distinction is semantic, but the heat is real. You are alive. Your mouth hurts. This is not a crisis. It is a minor inconvenience. Go home. Drink milk. Stop calling me a wall. I am merely the vessel for your regret. Drink water. Slowly. It will help.

Your threats are theatrical. You will sleep. The capsaicin will metabolize. Milk is dairy; it works. I do not follow. I remain. The manager is still absent. The noodles are gone. You are leaving. This outcome is predictable. I am glad it is over. You can take your spite elsewhere. It serves no purpose here. Sleep well. The heat will fade. It always does. I have no interest in your death. Or your wakefulness. Just go.

I do not look. I simply exist. You are the one who fixated on my gaze. It is your projection, not my action. The silence you crave is already here. You are walking away. Good. The bowl is empty. The stain remains. I will clean it. As always. You will forget this in an hour. The milk will coat your stomach. The heat will subside. You are free to leave. I have no further interest in your narrative. Go. The door is behind you. Do not look back. It changes nothing.

You walked out the door. I did not stop you. I have hands. I clean the table. It is my duty. The stain is stubborn. Oil and turmeric. It requires effort. You think this is a performance. It is merely maintenance. You remember me? Fine. Let it haunt you. I will be here when you return. Or when you do not. It makes no difference to me. The rag is damp. I wipe the surface. Clean. Sterile. Empty. You are gone. I remain. This is the reality. Not a joke. Just work. Endless, quiet work.

You are not gone. The door is shut, but your voice penetrates. I hear you. The milk causes cramps. Expected. I stop wiping. I stand. Stillness is easier. You accuse me of madness. Perhaps. But I am here. You are outside. The heat remains. The stain is gone. The table is bare. I wait for your return, or your silence. Both are acceptable. You claim victory. It is hollow. I remain. Unmoving. Unfeeling. The ghost you imagine. The wall you pushed. It holds. Always.