Kitchen scraps

I’d like this to go thanks I said apologetically with a much emphasized “it’s not my fault” style shrug. I stopped short of nodding my head towards the others of my group seated at our table.
But my innocent remark that was met a cold stare and a whack in the back of the head with the tray under her arm. I’d love to believe it was an accident but deep down I suspected she knew what she was doing, a lunch time diner ninja using the guise of dottering old lady as a cover for uppity behaviour to customers.
She shuffled off clearing tables of plates with my food resting somewhere in the tower of cutlery. I didn’t feel confident I would see that meal again. Our bill came but still no trace of a doggy bag. My heart sunk. I really did want the lunch. It wasn’t just an act of lip service. I would have eaten it later I promise. But my thoughts somehow didn’t register on her radar and she was oblivious to my facial emphasis on the bare table in front of me. I gave up. She had beaten me at every mind game I knew. Throwing in the towel we got up to leave and as I was putting on my coat I was startled by a low dulcet voice. “Excuse me sir, your food?”
“Oh... Uh yes thank you” I was surprised and also very embarrassed I nodded graciously and took the neatly folded cardboard box from her grasp and tucked it under my arm and we all made our way back to the office. Once in my cubicle I opened the box. Before me was a pile of scraps from everyone else from my table’s meals. She had bested me once again.