When an entitled customer humiliated me and hurled her drink at my face in front of everyone, she thought I’d take it lying down. What happened next was a lesson in why one should never underestimate someone in an apron.
The moment I stepped into the health food store that morning, the scent of fresh produce and herbal teas hit me like a wave. I breathed it in, savoring the familiar aroma that had become a part of my daily routine over the past year. As I tied my apron around my waist, I couldn’t shake the feeling that today was going to be different somehow…
“Hey, Grace! Ready for another exciting day of juice-making?” My coworker, Ally, called out from behind the counter.
I laughed, shaking my head. “You know it! Gotta keep those entitled customers happy, right?”
But as I said those words, a knot formed in my stomach. There was one customer in particular who always seemed to go out of her way to make our lives miserable.
We called her “Miss Pompous” behind her back, a fitting name for someone who acted like she owned the place every time she walked through the door.
I tried to push thoughts of her aside as I started my shift. I needed this job, not just for me, but for my family.
My widowed mother’s medical bills weren’t going to pay themselves, and my younger sister was counting on me to help with her college expenses. This job was my lifeline, and I couldn’t afford to lose it.
As I wiped down the juice bar, Ally leaned in close. “Heads up,” she whispered. “Miss Pompous just pulled into the parking lot. Brace yourself.”
My heart sank. “Great! Just what I needed to start my day.”
The bell above the door chimed, and in she walked, her designer heels clicking against the floor like a countdown to disaster.
Miss Pompous strutted up to the counter, her nose so high in the air I was surprised she could see where she was going. Without so much as a “hello,” she barked her order at me.
“Carrot juice. Now.”
I bit my tongue, forcing a smile. “Of course, ma’am. Coming right up.”
As I started juicing the carrots, I could feel her eyes boring into me, watching my every move like a hawk. The pressure was so intense that my hands started to shake slightly as I worked.
Finally, I handed her the freshly made juice. “Here you go, ma’am. Enjoy your drink!”
She snatched it from my hand and took one sip. Her eyes widened in disgust and her mouth curled into a sneer.
“Uh-oh, looks like someone’s about to unleash their inner drama llama!” I thought.
Before I could even react, Miss Pompous THREW the entire contents of the cup directly AT MY FACE.
The cold liquid splashed across my cheeks, dripping down my chin and soaking into my apron. I stood there in stunned silence, unable to process what had just happened.
“What is this watered-down garbage?” she screeched, her voice echoing through the store. “Are you trying to poison me?”
I blinked, wiping juice from my eyes. “I… I don’t understand. It’s the same recipe we always use.”
“It’s disgusting! Make it again, and this time, use your brain!”
My cheeks burned with humiliation as I felt the eyes of every customer in the store on me. Tears threatened to spill over, but I refused to let her see me cry.
“Is there a problem here?” My manager, Mr. Weatherbee, suddenly appeared beside me, his brows furrowed in concern, though I couldn’t tell if it was for me or for the prospect of losing a customer.
Miss Pompous turned her venom on him. “Your incompetent employee can’t even make a simple juice correctly! I demand a refund and a free replacement!”
To my horror, Mr. Weatherbee immediately began apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, ma’am. Of course, we’ll remake your juice right away, free of charge.”
He then turned to me. “Grace, please be more careful next time. We can’t afford to upset our valued customers.”
My jaw dropped. “But sir, I—”
He cut me off with a sharp look. “Just get the carrots from the fridge, Grace, and help me remake the juice.”
Miss Pompous smirked at me, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. In that moment, I felt smaller than the carrot peelings in the compost bin.
For a split second, I contemplated ripping off my apron and storming out, never to return.
But then, like a snapshot, my mom’s tired smile and my sister’s hopeful eyes flashed through my mind. I needed this job. I couldn’t let them down, not when they were counting on me.
So, with a heart hardening like steel, I stood my ground.
I forced myself to meet Miss Pompous’s gaze, refusing to buckle under the weight of her contempt. This entitled woman thought she could buy someone’s dignity with her money, that she could stamp out someone’s self-worth just because she was rich.
Well, not this time.
I wasn’t going to let it slide anymore. I wasn’t a doormat, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let my dignity be trampled on without consequence.
You know how they say you fight fire with fire? Well, this was it. A plan began to brew in my mind, bold and risky… but oh so satisfying!
As Mr. Weatherbee turned his back to the juicer and stepped away, answering a call on his cell phone, I made my move.
I casually reached into the fridge behind the counter, my fingers bypassing the neat, uniform carrots until they closed around the biggest, ugliest carrot I could find.
It was gnarled and tough… exactly what I needed.
I locked eyes with Miss Pompous, making sure she was watching.
“One moment, please,” I said, my voice sickly sweet. “I’ll make sure this juice is “perfect” for you.”
Miss Pompous watched with narrowed eyes as I fed it into the juicer.
The machine groaned and sputtered, struggling with the oversized vegetable. Juice began to spray everywhere across the counter, onto the floor, and most satisfyingly, all over Miss Pompous’s designer purse that she’d carelessly left too close to the danger zone.
Her shriek of horror was music to my ears.
“My bag!” she wailed, snatching it up and futilely trying to wipe away the orange stains. “You stupid girl! Look what you’ve done!”
“Oh no! I’m so sorry, ma’am. It was an accident, I swear.”
Her face turned an impressive shade of purple. “Accident? You deliberately ruined my three-thousand-dollar purse! I demand compensation! Where the heck is your manager?”
I could feel laughter bubbling up inside me, threatening to burst out. Struggling to keep a straight face, I gestured vaguely towards a group of customers browsing the aisles.
“I think I saw him helping someone over there,” I said, my voice wavering slightly with suppressed mirth.
As Miss Pompous turned to look, I took the opportunity to slip away, ducking behind the stockroom door.
From my hiding spot, I watched as she gave up waiting and stormed out of the store, clutching her dripping bag close to her chest, leaving a trail of carrot juice in her wake.
The bell above the door jangled violently as she slammed it behind her.
I let out a sigh of relief, but the knot in my stomach told me this wasn’t over. Miss Pompous wasn’t the type to let something like this go. I knew she’d be back, and next time, she’d be out for blood.
The next morning, I arrived at work with a swirl of dread churning in my stomach.
Barely an hour into my shift, Miss Pompous burst through the door like a storm cloud, making a beeline for the counter.
“Where is the owner?”
Before I could answer, Mr. Weatherbee emerged from the back room, his face pale. “Mrs. Johnson? Is there a problem?”
“I want to speak to the owner. Now!” she snapped.
As if on cue, the owner, Mr. Larson, appeared. He was a kind-faced man in his sixties.
“I’m the owner,” he said calmly. “What seems to be the problem?”
Miss Pompous launched into a tirade, her voice growing shriller with each word. “Your incompetent employee ruined my expensive purse yesterday! I demand she be fired immediately, and I expect full compensation for my loss!”
Mr. Larson listened patiently. When she finally ran out of steam, he simply said, “I see. Well, let’s take a look at the security footage, shall we?”
My heart skipped a beat. I’d forgotten about the cameras. Oh no.
We all gathered around the small monitor in Mr. Larson’s office. As the footage played, showing Miss Pompous throwing juice in my face and my subsequent “accident” with her purse, the room fell silent.
Finally, Mr. Larson turned to Miss Pompous. “Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t offer you any compensation. What I see here is an unfortunate accident that occurred after you assaulted my employee. If anyone should be considering legal action, it’s us.”
Miss Pompous’s jaw dropped. “But… but my purse!”
“I suggest you leave now, Mrs. Johnson. And please don’t return to this establishment. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone who mistreats our staff.”
With a final glare of pure hatred in my direction, Miss Pompous stormed out, the bell over the door clanging violently in her wake.
As soon as she was gone, Mr. Larson turned to me, his eyes twinkling. “Well, Grace, I hope it was just an accident.”
“Yes, sir. It was! Why would I intentionally ruin a customer’s belongings?” I lied.
Mr. Larson nodded and walked away. As I hurried back to the juice bar, Ally gave me a high five. “Way to go, Grace! You stood up to the wicked witch!”
I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in months. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
Well, that was justice served, with a side of carrot juice! Sometimes, what goes around comes around in the most unexpected ways. And let me tell you, it tastes pretty sweet.
That night, as I recounted the story to my mom and sister over dinner, I realized something important: standing up for myself hadn’t just taught Miss Pompous a lesson, it had reminded me of my own worth.
So, have you ever dealt with entitled people like Miss Pompous? I’d love to hear your stories in the comments. After all, we’ve all got to stick together against the “Karens” of the world, right?
I Got Engaged to a ‘Perfect’ Woman – When I Met Her Parents for the First Time, I Canceled the Wedding
When I met the woman of my dreams, I believed we were perfect for each other! But after I met her parents, I had major doubts about our future together. It took a while, but I finally saw her for who she was, and I didn’t like it!
As a 31-year-old man, I’d dated a couple of different women in my life, but when I saw Olivia, my life changed. I knew I wanted her to be my wife after our first meeting but learned the hard way that taking time to know someone is ideal. Here’s my story.
A man at a music concert | Source: Midjourney
I met the beautiful and lively Olivia at a concert. When I first spotted her, she was standing near the stage, singing along to every word of our favorite band’s songs—her energy electrifying! I was there alone, trying to soak in the music after a rough week at work, and her joy was contagious!
During the intermission, I managed to maneuver closer to her and struck up a conversation. We clicked instantly, bonding over our shared love for indie rock and terrible karaoke. By the end of the night, I had her number and a gut feeling that I’d just met someone extraordinary!
A man bonding with a woman | Source: Midjourney
Our relationship took off faster than I expected. Olivia was everything I’d ever wanted in a woman! She was charming, passionate, and endlessly supportive! Her vibrant personality was addictive, making every day feel like an adventure.
After only four months of dating bliss, we decided to move in together. It felt right, everything about us felt right! My apartment was small and bland, while Olivia’s place was larger and full of life, like her.
A large apartment | Source: Midjourney
She had plants on every windowsill, cozy blankets, and shelves of well-loved books. Blending our lives was effortless. What I didn’t anticipate was that living together would only deepen my affection for her.
We were the perfect couple in my eyes, and some of my friends who met her thought the same. We cooked dinner together, binge-watched old sitcoms, and hosted game nights with her friends and mine.
A couple hanging out with friends | Source: Midjourney
Olivia had this way of making the mundane feel special, and my friends loved her! After eight months, I knew she was the one! So, I planned another trip to a concert by the same band that was playing when we first met.
I was nervous when I bought the engagement ring, but we’d spoken about our future, and she’d excitedly revealed that she’d love to marry me and have children. That was all I needed to know. I hid the ring in my jacket and pulled it out at the perfect moment.
A man looking at a wedding ring | Source: Midjourney
I proposed at the concert, the same band playing a love song we adored in the background, and she said yes without hesitation! I thought I was the luckiest man alive! But I should’ve known better than to rush into things so quickly.
Because things moved so fast between us, we hadn’t met each other’s families yet. But Olivia always spoke highly of her parents, describing them as “fun and old-school.” She mentioned they were excited about the engagement and wanted to meet me.
A couple talking | Source: Midjourney
They planned a trip to visit us, and Olivia suggested celebrating our engagement with them at an upscale restaurant. I was nervous but eager to make a great impression.
The plan was that Olivia would meet my parents soon afterward. I spent the day preparing for the big day by getting my best suit pressed. I even rehearsed polite conversation and Googled ways to connect with potential in-laws.
A man using his laptop | Source: Midjourney
When we finally arrived at the restaurant, my nerves started kicking in, but I brushed them off, knowing I’d come prepared. As we entered, Olivia helped ease my tension by squeezing my hand and whispering, “Relax, they’re going to love you just like I do.”
But from the moment her parents arrived, I knew this dinner wouldn’t be normal. As soon as we sat down and I was introduced to her parents, they made me regret ever coming.
A couple sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney
Her father, Richard, was a broad-shouldered man with a commanding presence and a serious air about him. He barely acknowledged me as he took his seat. Her mother, Diane, adorned in enough jewelry to blind the waiter, gave me a quick once-over before turning to Olivia with a tight-lipped smile.
“So, Tommy, right?” Richard began. Without giving me a chance to respond, he said, “Let’s talk about your future roles now that you’re marrying our daughter.”
A serious older man talking | Source: Midjourney
I smiled, thinking he was referring to becoming part of the family or shared traditions. Instead, he leaned back and said, “Olivia’s been dreaming of quitting her job to be a full-time homemaker. You’ll need to cover all the household expenses so she can focus on that.”
I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him correctly.
Diane chuckled, swirling her wine. “Oh, and don’t forget a little financial help for us wouldn’t hurt. Just a small monthly amount for your new in-laws—it’s the least a loving son-in-law can do, right?”
A happy woman talking | Source: Midjourney
I froze in place, my smile faltering before I managed to squeak, “I’m sorry—what?”
Richard’s face remained stone-cold as he nodded as if the conversation was normal. “You want to marry into the family, right? So, you have to provide. Your wife shouldn’t have to work. And we’ll appreciate a modest amount for our pension from you as well.”
I glanced at Olivia, expecting her to laugh it off! But she only smiled sweetly and said, “It’s not a big deal, baby. Really. It’s how we’ve always done things in our family.”
A happy woman | Source: Midjourney
The waiter conveniently appeared with our drinks, giving me a moment to process this insanity! I felt like I’d been sucker-punched and was struggling to catch my breath. But looking back, there were small things I ignored.
Olivia tended to brush off any serious conversations I wanted to have. Once, when we talked about finances, she laughed and said, “Oh, my parents have always told me I’d marry someone who’d take care of me.” I thought it was a joke, until now.
A couple talking | Source: Midjourney
While everyone placed their food orders, I sat there in awe, mulling over what I’d just heard. When the waiter turned to me, I ordered the first thing I saw on the menu, completely dazed and consumed by what Olivia and her parents had told me.
After the waiter left, Richard continued as if he were negotiating a business merger. “It’s not just about you providing money, of course. My daughter deserves the lifestyle she’s grown accustomed to—vacations, fine dining, spa days, and such. You’ll need to buy her apartment from us too. We raised her with high standards, after all.”
A serious man talking | Source: Midjourney
Diane leaned in. “And eventually, you’ll need a bigger place. This apartment is fine for now, but our grandchildren will need more space. And when we visit, we expect to have a bedroom dedicated to us.”
My appetite completely vanished as the food was served. Every word out of their mouths felt surreal, and so did the whole evening! I glanced at Olivia again, but she just sipped her wine, perfectly comfortable.
A woman holding her wine | Source: Midjourney
I don’t remember what they spoke about for the rest of the dinner. I occasionally smiled, and I think I chipped in with some comments, but I wasn’t there mentally. When the check arrived, Richard didn’t even glance at it.
He made intense eye contact as he slid it toward me without a word. I paid, my hands trembling. The drive home was suffocatingly silent. Olivia fiddled with her engagement ring before finally breaking the silence.
A woman sitting in the passenger’s seat of a car | Source: Midjourney
“So? What did you think of them?”
I gripped the steering wheel, choosing to handle the matter at hand once and for all. “Honestly? I think I can’t marry you.”
Her head snapped toward me. “What? Are you serious?”
I nodded. “Because this isn’t love, Olivia. It’s a business arrangement. Your parents want me to be their retirement plan, and you’re okay with that. That’s not the kind of life I want.”
An upset man driving | Source: Midjourney
Her face twisted in disbelief. “You’re overreacting! It’s just how my family works! You said you loved me!”
“I do—or I did. But love doesn’t come with conditions like this,” I replied.
We argued all the way home. Olivia accused me of being cold, selfish, and unwilling to compromise. But in my mind, the decision was made. As soon as we got home, I packed my things. The same apartment that once felt so alive now felt like a cage.
An upset man packing his clothes | Source: Midjourney
I moved in with my brother, Nate, for a while. He didn’t ask questions, just handed me a beer and let me sit in silence.
A week later, I bumped into one of Olivia’s friends, who told me her parents were livid, not because I’d broken their daughter’s heart, but because their financial plan had crumbled. That was all the confirmation I needed.
Olivia texted me a few times, saying I was throwing away something amazing. But I knew better. Love shouldn’t feel like a contract.
A man looking at his phone | Source: Midjourney
Months passed, and I slowly started rebuilding my life. I joined a local hiking group, reconnected with old friends, and focused on myself. I learned that love isn’t just about how someone makes you feel, it’s about how they support you, challenge you, and grow with you.
Looking back, I realized that walking away was the best decision I ever made. Sometimes, the “perfect” person turns out to be perfect for all the wrong reasons.
And I’m okay with that.
A happy man | Source: Midjourney
If that story had you going, then you’d love this one about a man’s fiancée who thought everything was perfect in their relationship until they went on holiday with his children. He suddenly abandoned the trio at the vacation hotel, leaving his fiancée to think the worst.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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