I have always tried to be ethical.

Sometimes it is very difficult. Sometimes you are ensconced in a "gray area" that makes a clear-cut decision almost impossible to discern. The situation evolves and before you can say "Jack Robinson," you are sitting on the horns of a dilemma.

It was a beautiful autumn Saturday evening. We had reservations for four at a well-known Great Neck restaurant, that will be nameless. The reservations were for 9:15 p.m. for a late, casual, carefree supper. Usually this unnamed dining establishment is very meticulous and very punctual in seating people with reservations.

From 8 p.m. to 9:10 p.m., we strolled easily through the lively and bustling streets of Great Neck. Some shops were open and we bought cheeses, nuts and coffee at a local "gourmet" delicatessen. It was time to stop our aimless wandering and sit down for our meal.

When we entered the restaurant it was wall-to-wall people. The entrance area was small and it took a great deal of energy and some gentle pushing to get to the reservations area. The maitre d' was nowhere to be found. An overwhelmed teenager was manning the desk.

"Give us five minutes, and we will seat you," she lied.

Obviously, the restaurant was having a catered party. All the people in the narrow hallway seemed to know each other. A huge sign-in board with the picture of a young girl was pushed against one wall. She was dressed in 1950s clothing.

Was it a Sweet Sixteen party? No, it was a 65th birthday celebration for someone named Rhoda. God bless her; she looked like a lovely girl in 1950. We milled about aimlessly for 10 minutes.

"How is our table doing?" we asked the harried teenaged girl in charge of the reservations book.

"Ten more minutes" was her unrealistic reply.

We huddled for a conference. Should we wait or should we go? We decided to wait the 10 minutes. It was late and we were famished. At 10 o'clock on a Saturday night it would be difficult to find another dining place.

A waiter appeared before us, offering a tray of chicken wings and stuffed mushrooms. Was he from the restaurant rewarding its patiently-waiting diners, or did he think we were part of Rhoda's party? That was the dilemma. Should we partake or should we starve in silence? I cannot always think clearly when I am hungry so I took a piece of chicken on a bone.

As I bit into it I heard the harsh voice of a small man (with an awful hair style) scream.

"They are eating my food! They are eating the food that I have paid for!"

I was stuck with the chicken bone in my grasp. No ash tray or trash can was within my sight. Caught! Dead to rights! Trapped! No place to dispose of the evidence.

Sheepishly, I withdrew, withering under the cold eyes of my angelic wife. I found an empty glass and deposited the eaten chicken bone. My greasy fingers were now the only evidence in the strong case against me.

My dinner companion asked about our table once again.

"Ten more minutes" was the refrain she repeated. We left, and our meal that evening was in a diner in Jericho.

All night long we discussed the ethics of that situation.

a) Was I guilty?

b) Was the restaurant guilty of overbooking on a night when they had a private party?

c) Was I trapped into helping myself to that chicken wing by being too hungry?

d) Should I apologize to the man with the bad hair-do?

e) All of the above.

Please my readers, take me off the horns of the dilemma. What should I have done? What should I do now? Send all thoughts to Stanley Greenberg, c/o Syosset Jericho Tribune, 132 East 2nd Street, Mineola, NY 11501.