As Marissa stepped into the wedding dress salon, her heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and nerves. This was a huge moment for her — the very first time she’d ever walk into a bridal shop, the first time she’d be looking for her dream wedding gown.
At 55 years old, proud of her Hispanic roots, and completely herself, Marissa knew she might not fit the usual picture the saleswomen expected. She was ready for anything, though. She’d worked too hard and come too far to let anyone make her feel small today.
The salon was stunning—gleaming marble floors, sparkling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and racks upon racks of breathtaking dresses. Every gown looked different, more beautiful than the last. Marissa’s eyes shone with wonder. She couldn’t wait to try some on.
But as she moved deeper inside, she sensed a change in the atmosphere.
Two young saleswomen in sleek black uniforms glanced at her like she was an outsider. Their eyes scanned her up and down, whispering just loud enough for Marissa to hear. She felt their judgment slice through the room.
Then, a tall blonde with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes slid over. “Can I help you?” she asked, her tone dripping with fake sweetness.
Marissa smiled back and said, “Yes, I’d like to try on some dresses. Lace would be my first choice, but I’m open to anything that might flatter my figure.”
The blonde raised her eyebrows like Marissa had just asked for the moon. “Uh, well… these dresses are pretty delicate,” she said slowly, as if explaining something very complicated. “You should be careful, you know? Try not to touch them with your… hands.”
Marissa blinked, confused and a bit insulted. Her hands? She glanced down—her hands were strong, the hands of a woman who had worked hard every day of her life.
“My hands are clean,” Marissa said calmly.
The blonde smirked like she found Marissa amusing. “I just meant these dresses are expensive, ma’am. Maybe you want to look at something more affordable? We have a small selection… just not much to choose from. But I’m sure you’ll find something.”
Before Marissa could answer, a brunette with a tight ponytail—so tight it looked like it might cut off her breath—jumped in. “Yeah, we’ve got some clearance dresses in the back. Last season’s styles. Probably more in your price range,” she sneered.
Marissa clenched her jaw but forced a polite smile. She was not about to let them see how much their words stung.
“I’d like to try this one,” she said, pointing to a beautiful lace gown on a mannequin.
The blonde’s eyes went wide. She laughed softly. “Are you sure? That one’s over $10,000. Might be a bit out of your budget.”
The condescension hit Marissa like a cold gust of wind, but she didn’t flinch. She smiled right back at them.
They thought they had her figured out. An older Hispanic woman, not dripping in diamonds, probably a maid or something, given the rude comment about her hands. Just another customer out of place in their perfect little world.
But they were in for a surprise.
Just then, John, the salon manager, appeared from the back. Smartly dressed in a black suit, he looked between Marissa and the two saleswomen with a knowing gaze.
“What’s going on here, girls?” he asked firmly.
Before Marissa could say anything, the blonde piped up with a sneer, “Oh, nothing. Just making sure our dresses stay safe. This lady was eyeing the expensive gowns, and you told us to watch how everyone handles them.”
She thought she was being clever. John’s face darkened. His eyes locked on the blonde.
“This lady?” he said, voice tense. “You mean Ms. Morales? Soon-to-be Mrs. Shepherd? The new owner of this salon?”
Shock washed over the two saleswomen.
“The owner? I thought it was Mr. Thomas,” the blonde stammered.
“Mr. Shepherd, Ashley!” John barked. “He’s Ms. Morales’ fiancé. She has taken over this store. You’d know if you paid attention to anything besides yourselves!”
The room went silent. The saleswomen stood frozen, suddenly realizing who they’d been rude to—and just how much trouble they could be in.
“I’m tempted to fire you both on the spot!” John thundered. “And even if she weren’t the owner, do you two treat customers like this?”
Marissa shook her head and said, “John, don’t fire them. Not just yet.”
“Ma’am, are you sure?” he asked, surprised.
“I’m sure,” Marissa said, turning to the saleswomen. The arrogance they had melted away, replaced by something far sweeter: fear.
“Instead of firing you, Ashley,” Marissa said, pointing at the blonde, “you’re going to be my personal assistant for the next month. Thomas and I have a lot to do before the wedding.”
Ashley’s jaw dropped. “P-personal assistant?” she stammered.
“That’s right,” Marissa said firmly. “You’ll learn what this business is really about. You’ll learn to serve every customer with respect, no matter how they look, what they wear, or where they come from. This job isn’t just about pushing expensive dresses. It’s about making dreams come true.”
The room was silent, her words sinking in. John nodded silently, knowing not to argue.
“And you?” Marissa asked the brunette. “What’s your name?”
“Matilda,” she whispered.
“Matilda, you’ll study everything about wedding dresses—the materials, the styles, the veils. You’ll become an expert.”
She paused, looking both of them in the eyes.
“Do I make myself clear?”
Both nodded eagerly.
“So… what now?” Ashley asked, still trembling.
“Now, Ashley,” Marissa said with a confident smile, “you get me some champagne and ask me what kind of dress I want.”
Ashley dashed off, flustered but obedient, while Matilda moved to the lace section and pulled the gown Marissa had pointed to earlier off the rack.
“What do you think, Matilda?” Marissa asked, holding up the dress. “Will it suit me?”
Matilda looked at her thoughtfully. “I think you’d look beautiful in anything, ma’am. But a sweetheart neckline might suit you better—it would highlight your shoulders.”
“Much better,” Marissa said, smiling warmly. “Thank you.”
She knew she had her work cut out for her with these two girls. But they deserved a chance to learn how to be truly good at their jobs.
As for Marissa? She had a wedding dress to find — and a new chapter to start.
What would you have done if you were Marissa?
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