It was a sweltering day when I visited the bustling café. The moment I stepped inside, I could feel the cool air conditioning wash over me, offering a much-needed relief from the scorching heat. I took a seat at the empty table next to the wall and dug into my bag for my phone.
The waitress came over, her weary eyes scanning the table, no doubt wondering why I wasn't ordering anything. I handed her the menu, requesting for a mint lemonade. As she turned to leave, I noticed a smear of red on the floor. It looked like bloody handprints.
I raised my eyebrows, curious about the source. The waitress returned with my drink, setting it down on the table without a word. She gave me an annoyed look that suggested she didn't appreciate my staring at her mess. She walked away before I could ask about it.
I sipped my refreshing lemonade, trying to ignore the discoloration on the floor. A few minutes later, another customer entered the café. He too noticed the strange mark and came over to investigate.
"Excuse me, miss," he said, his voice laced with concern. "Do you know what that is on the floor?"
I shrugged, unsure of what to say. "I don't know. It wasn't like that when I sat down."
He shook his head, a look of disgust flashing across his face. "I think someone... you know... on the floor."
I gasped, horrified by the thought. I quickly finished my drink and left the café, my mind reeling with the image of someone in such a disgusting act. As I walked out, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that the person responsible would have to deal with the consequences of their actions.
Little did I know that my "little surprise" would end up being the talk of the town. The staff would spend hours trying to figure out what it was and who could have possibly left it there. Some thought it was blood, while others insisted it was food stains. No one could have guessed that it was actually a colorful bouquet of flowers, carefully arranged right where the dirty handprints used to be.
As for the person who originally complained about the poor service, they never returned to the café again. It seemed that their taste for revenge was satiated by my small, yet creative gesture. And as for me? Well, I couldn't help but chuckle every time I thought about the look on their face when they saw my "gift."
