Personal Narrative: The Incident at the Restaurant

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I learnt to appreciate life about six years ago in a restaurant where I had a habit of sitting and moaning to myself about how boring everything seemed to me. I reached up and clutched the top of my forehead, squeezing ever so slightly, wishing the constant, irritant pain could dissipate. I watched as the waiters tirelessly travelled laps from table to table in search of fresh orders and annoyingly small tips. The immense chatter provided by each customer and the occasional clatter of the cutlery, which presented an almost permanent ringing in my ears, did not aid me in my strong attempts to keep my agony at peace. A group of teenage boys, however seemed to be entirely glued to the windows, didn’t even notice the noise. They didn’t even manage to notice that the waiter had placed their b...

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