“Well, I’ll just…go,” Chad mutters. But my new seat mate is totally ignoring him. He’s scanning the menu QR code with his phone. “Hey, did you see they have mozzarella sticks?” he says, his tone falsely bright and cheery. “I’m ordering some. You wanna share? Oh, shit—you’re allergic to dairy. Well, I’m still ordering them.” I’m smiling now. I can’t help it. This guy has effectively neutralized my Chad problem without me having to be a bitch and make a scene.
