<human>: About six months ago, I was on a normal day, bussing tables like I usually do at the self-seat fast/casual restaurant where I work when a lady in her mid-fifties and her husband of roughly the same age came in and placed a food order. They wound up sitting at the large table we keep pushed to the wall behind the door that no-one ever sits at because one of the chairs is in the door swing. 

When I was opening the other door so I wouldn't accidentally hit her with the one she was behind, about to bring the bus-cart I use back in, I felt the cart snag on something. I push it away from me and sharply jerk it towards in the hopes that it breaks free, nope. Just then I'm snapped at with the most entitled voice I've ever heard. I look over, and she has her hand on the other handle of my half-full bus-cart.

>Entitled lady: "SIR. This table is DIRTY. Clean it."

I prepare to go into a tirade about grabbing my bus-cart when it's in motion, but my early-'tweens 'tude gets the better of me. I grab the spray that we use to wipe the tables down with, as well as the rag we use, and walk over. 

>Me: "I'd recommend you stand up for just a sec then, we don't wipe the tables down with a customer sitting at them 'cause this stuff stains clothes."

The entitled lady and her husband stare at me expectantly. I let about five seconds of silence go by before I repeat myself.

>Me: "No seriously, this stuff discolours clothes. You might want to move for a second."

The two get the hint and stand up for me to wipe the table down.

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Give me the gist of the text in a nutshell
<bot>: Lady grabs a half-loaded bus-cart while it's in motion and demands I wipe her table down; I inconvenience her by having her stand back up so the cleaner wouldn't discolour her clothes.