May I please have a cup of black bean soup and an asiago bagel to go, please?” I requested of the fresh-faced associate with straight hair the color of obsidian. English was not his first language. August's humidity had abruptly morphed into September's nippiness on the shores of Lake Erie. Like many of my fellow residents I had sought some commercial warmth at a local chain café that evening. The associate asked a fellow worker if my soup was available. Yes, but there would be a delay. However, the asiago bagel was not. I settled for a sesame one. The associate was quite slender with a concave middle and narrow shoulders. He was also insecure, yet polite. Another associate with a colorful nametag emblazoned with the name Summer demonstrated to him how to ring up my order. He remained confused. Summer then pinched him. She darted off to another section of the counter and swiftly returned. Summer was a short plain Jane sporting an ocher colored tightly curled peruke underneath her visor. This time she wrapped her arms around the associate's middle as though she were a cinch belt. His face revealed his annoyance, distress and humiliation. This disturbed me as well. I spoke up in a firm normal tone. “You should keep your hands to yourself. That's simply not appropriate.” Summer grinned and declared, “He doesn't mind!” and scampered off. The associate remained calm as he gestured to the pastries in the case. “Would you like any sweets? I do mind.” My soup was still not ready. “Please get the manager.” I instructed. Through the doorway, I caught a glimpse of Summer's preempting me. She was flailing her arms indicating she could express herself as she so chose. The victim was in front of the cash register wedged between Summer and Dan, the manager. The latter looked like a second string quarterback. His brown hair framed a face that appeared to be easily puzzled. I had confused him with someone who cared. “Why don't you have any asiago bagels?” I began. “It's been crazy”, he replied. I continued, “We are not on a reality show. We are in public. Summer made a series of unwelcome and aggressive advances repeatedly.” Summer interrupted me and bubbled, “I told you, he doesn't mind!” I resumed my lecture directed to her, “I do! He's uncomfortable. It's unfortunate. If I were to grab at you, you'd tell me to stop. Use your words if you have something to share.” Dan said nothing. I reached for a card in my purse to jot their names down. Who is responsible for my becoming a voyeur when a consumer of soup would have done? Perhaps Summer did not know better. Her disturbed and disruptive conduct was concerning. Conceivably, she inhabited a place where only her feelings mattered. Others were there for her amusement and derision. They did not concern themselves with her care and keeping nor did she concern herself with theirs. It was doubtful that her upbringing had been one of privilege. It was unlikely that her parents had invested in her as a person to enrich her internal life. Could I have mistaken late pubescent behavior for something sinister that it wasn't? If Summer's offenses had consisted of pilfering would her employer have been so laissez-faire? Was it fair, realistic or plain naïve for me to think that with its thousands of employees, this Saint Louis-based chain concerned itself with individual transactions? From their perspective, it appears that whipping up pretend Tuscan concoctions from the test kitchen is the priority. Screening, monitoring and training employees were superfluous. I would assume that this has happened between Summer and the victim repeatedly and previously. Often this torment escalates if there is no strong negative consequence. An annoying pinch can become an unwanted squeeze. My concern that the management is well aware of such conduct as Summer's and it dismisses or sugarcoats it. Tacitly, they are apparently demanding that their customers be complicit, too. My soup was finally ready. Summer snickered at me as I departed.