The morning air smelled like fresh fruits and herbal tea as I stepped into the health food store, tying my apron around my waist. The scent was comforting, something I had grown used to over the past year. But today felt… different. I couldn’t explain why, but there was a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Hey, Grace! Ready for another exciting day of juice-making?” my coworker, Ally, called from behind the counter, flashing a grin.
I laughed, shaking my head. “You know it! Gotta keep those entitled customers happy, right?”
Ally snickered. “Oh, you mean her?” She lowered her voice, glancing toward the door. “Miss Pompous?”
I groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
Miss Pompous was our not-so-affectionate nickname for the worst customer we had. She walked in every day as if she owned the place, treating us like her personal servants. No matter what we did, she always found something to complain about.
But I needed this job. My mom was a widow, and her medical bills were piling up. My younger sister was working hard to get into college, and I promised to help her. This wasn’t just a job—it was my family’s lifeline.
Ally suddenly stiffened. “Heads up,” she whispered. “She just pulled into the parking lot.”
My stomach dropped. Here we go.
The bell above the door jingled, and in walked Miss Pompous, her designer heels clicking against the floor. Her nose was so high in the air, I was surprised she didn’t trip over something. She didn’t bother with a greeting.
“Carrot juice. Now,” she snapped.
I swallowed my irritation and forced a polite smile. “Of course, ma’am. Coming right up.”
As I fed the carrots into the juicer, I felt her gaze burning into me. My hands trembled slightly as I worked under the pressure.
Finally, I placed the fresh juice on the counter. “Here you go, ma’am. Enjoy!”
She grabbed the cup and took a sip. Her face twisted in disgust, and my stomach clenched. Uh-oh.
Before I could react, she threw the entire cup of juice directly at my face.
Cold liquid splashed over me, dripping down my chin and soaking my apron. A stunned silence filled the store as customers turned to watch the scene unfold.
Miss Pompous screeched, “What is this watered-down garbage? Are you trying to poison me?”
I blinked, trying to process what had just happened. “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!”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. My fists clenched at my sides as laughter rippled through the store—not at her, but at me. Tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let her see me break.
Just then, my manager, Mr. Weatherbee, appeared. “Is there a problem here?” His voice was calm, but his face was tight with concern.
Miss Pompous turned to him with a dramatic sigh. “Your incompetent employee can’t even make a simple juice correctly! I demand a refund and a free replacement!”
To my horror, Mr. Weatherbee nodded apologetically. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. We’ll remake it right away, free of charge.”
Then he turned to me. “Grace, please be more careful next time. We can’t afford to upset our customers.”
My jaw dropped. “But sir, I—”
He cut me off with a sharp look. “Just grab the carrots and remake the juice.”
I looked at Miss Pompous, who was smirking like she had just won some grand battle. At that moment, I felt tiny. Worthless. But then, an image flashed through my mind—my mother’s tired smile, my sister’s hopeful eyes. I needed this job, but that didn’t mean I had to let this woman treat me like dirt.
A plan formed in my mind. It was risky, but oh, it would be so satisfying.
As Mr. Weatherbee stepped away to take a phone call, I made my move. Reaching into the fridge, I bypassed the neat, fresh carrots and grabbed the biggest, ugliest, toughest carrot I could find.
I locked eyes with Miss Pompous and smiled sweetly. “One moment, ma’am. I’ll make sure this juice is perfect for you.”
I shoved the gnarled carrot into the juicer. The machine sputtered and groaned under the strain. Juice sprayed out in all directions—across the counter, onto the floor, and most beautifully of all, right onto Miss Pompous’s designer purse.
She shrieked. “MY BAG! You stupid girl! Look what you’ve done!”
I gasped dramatically. “Oh no! I’m so sorry, ma’am. It was an accident, I swear.”
She held up her purse, now dripping in orange carrot juice. “This purse cost three thousand dollars! I demand compensation! Where is your manager?”
I struggled to keep a straight face. “I think I saw him helping someone over there.”
As she turned to look, I slipped into the stockroom, watching through the small window as she stomped out of the store, leaving a trail of juice behind her.
The next morning, the knot in my stomach returned. I knew this wasn’t over.
Barely an hour into my shift, Miss Pompous stormed in. “Where is the owner?” she barked.
Mr. Larson, the kind-faced owner of the store, stepped forward. “I’m the owner. What seems to be the problem?”
Miss Pompous went on a rant about her ruined purse and how I needed to be fired immediately. Mr. Larson listened patiently, then said, “Let’s check the security footage, shall we?”
My stomach clenched. I had forgotten about the cameras.
We gathered in his office as the footage played. First, it showed her throwing juice in my face. Then, my so-called “accident” with the juicer.
The room fell silent.
Mr. Larson turned to Miss Pompous. “Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t offer you compensation. In fact, what I see here is an assault on my employee. If anyone should consider legal action, it’s us.”
Her face turned red. “But… but my purse!”
“I suggest you leave now, Mrs. Johnson. And please don’t return. We reserve the right to refuse service to those who mistreat our staff.”
Miss Pompous shot me a final glare before storming out, slamming the door behind her.
As soon as she was gone, Mr. Larson turned to me with a knowing twinkle in his eye. “Grace, I hope it was just an accident.”
I nodded innocently. “Yes, sir. Why would I intentionally ruin a customer’s belongings?”
He chuckled and walked away. As I returned to the juice bar, Ally grinned and high-fived me. “That was legendary.”
I laughed. “Justice served. With a side of carrot juice.”
That night, as I told my mom and sister about what happened, I realized something—I hadn’t just taught Miss Pompous a lesson. I had reminded myself that no one had the right to take away my dignity.
So, have you ever dealt with an entitled customer? Let me know your story in the comments. After all, we’ve got to stick together against the Karens of the world, right?
