There it was. The tables were set for big profits. Large menus were staring me in the face. I knew the weekly meeting drill; it’s a conditional arrangement. If you come here, you must eat. A lot. Or the meeting space will go to someone else.

Hmm, I thought. Hospitality? This sounds more like hostility. I poured myself a cup of coffee from one of the many carafes around the table. And pondered, do I really want to open up that big menu and look at those pictures of oversized, highly processed food selections – pancakes aglow with bright, synthetic-looking syrups, topped off with mountains of whipped cream? Or would I rather eggs dripping in fake, buttery-like substances, greasy breakfast meat or tasteless toast? Did I really want to stare the heart attack or cancer-waiting-to-happen in the face at 7 a.m.?

No. I’m not that hungry. I’ll just have an English muffin. After all, I am in a restaurant, I should be able to order whatever my little heart desires, I thought. Expecting that I may have to pay a minimum because I knew the condition of this restaurant, I thought nothing more of it.

The waitress came to take my order. Horror filled her face, like a tip lost. I had done the deadly sin – a curve ball thrown, like a bait and switch.

“I’d like an English muffin,” I said.

“You’re required to order a meal,” she responded.

“That’s all I want,” I said.

“You’re required to order a meal,” she repeated, like a rehearsed script with no flexibility.

“That will be my meal,” I contended, feeling for a moment like I was being cast in the movie, “Super Size Me,” against my will.

Adamant with my choice, I avoided eye contact, and eventually she moved on. Time was running out, there were orders to take and profits to be made, so why waste time on this sorry English muffin case?

As my colleagues’ meals filed in around me – plates stacked high with food – my over-sized English muffin landed in front of me. Grilled in the tasteless buttery spread, it couldn’t be rescued even with the strawberry jam. I chased the half that I ate with coffee, thankful for the unlimited supply.

As the breakfast meeting neared the end, I noted plates of half-eaten food left by some of my colleagues. What a waste, I thought. If I had ordered a big meal and eaten it completely on a regular basis, I’d be saying: “Where’s my waist?” I was, for a moment, happy that I had held my ground and ordered simply what I thought I could eat, but even that was too much.

The irony of it was that at this particular meeting, I represent a non-profit, which, among other things, helps find resources for those unable to put food on the table. Observing the excessiveness of portions left reaffirmed my childhood teachings: waste not, want not. I had done the right thing. But little did I know I would pay a premium.

Observing my check, there it was – my minimum charge of $8 with tax and a 15 percent tip. Final cost of this breakfast: $9.76 – a little pricey for an English muffin, I thought – but my work is worth it.

As my colleagues left, I saw the other checks tucked among the plates. It was then that I noted that my minimum charge was actually a penalty charge, and higher than everyone else’s.

Feeling justified, I decided to raise some stink. I called the manager when I got home.

“I know you. You’re the one who ordered the English muffin! You’re required to order a meal,” the manager said.

Funny, I thought, this has a familiar ring. Obviously, word had gotten around. Shame on me. What was I thinking, ordering an English muffin in this chain restaurant?

“We’re proud of our food and we want people to eat it. We can’t have everyone coming in and eating just English muffins,” she said.

Clearly, I was setting a bad example. In this restaurant, this action would not be tolerated. She had no more time for my case. There were other phone calls to make.

The e-mail came from the president of our group. The message was simple: you must order a meal or the entire group will have to move. Like it or not, I had been trapped in the restaurant revenue ringer.

What’s happened to our chain restaurants? Gone are the days of leisure dining on choices that please you. Satisfying the customer doesn’t enter into the formula anymore. It’s a vicious cycle of gluttonous portions, waste and a serve-’em-up-and-move-’em-out mentality with a relentless message: Pig out or pay.