The Day Before the Wedding, the Bride Changed the Menu—and Everything Exploded
The day before a big wedding, the bride suddenly demanded a last-minute change to the menu. When she was told it was too late, she lost her temper. Then her lawyer fiancé stepped in—and fired the entire catering team on the spot.
What they didn’t know was that karma was already cooking in the kitchen—and it was about to be served extra hot.
Back then, I was running a catering company for my boss, Tom, while he went through chemotherapy.
He couldn’t work much, so I took over. This wedding was my first major event in charge, and I wanted to prove I could handle everything. I had no idea I’d learn more about people in those three days than I had in my ten years of working in food service.
The contract was simple: 150 steak dinners at $50 a plate. Nothing fancy—just quality food at a premium price.
I had handled everything myself: the client meetings, food tastings, and even the final signing. Tom couldn’t even look at food without feeling sick, so it was all on me. No pressure, right?
Everything was going fine… until 1 p.m. the day before the wedding.
I was in the kitchen, checking on the staff as they prepped steaks, when my phone rang.
Camille.
I felt a chill run through my spine. Something about her always made me uneasy. Following our business protocol, I hit record before answering.
“Hi, Camille! How can I help you today?” I said in my friendliest voice.
Her voice was sharp. “We need to change the menu.”
“Change the menu?” I asked, trying to stay calm.
“Yes,” she snapped. “Blake and I have decided we want seafood. Like salmon or sea bass. Something more elegant.”
I looked around the kitchen. Six of my team were already trimming steaks. Sauces were simmering. Vegetables were being chopped.
“I’m really sorry, Camille, but we’re already prepping steaks right now. The contract says no changes are allowed within one month of the event. And we’ve already bought all the ingredients.”
There was silence… then her voice shot up a pitch.
“Are you SERIOUS? This is MY wedding! We’re paying you almost $8,000!”
“I completely understand,” I said gently. “But—”
“Do you understand ENGLISH? I said I want to change the menu! What part of that confuses you? Are you ILLITERATE or something?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. I had dealt with difficult clients before, but this was on a whole new level.
“Camille, I promise we want your day to be perfect. But you signed a contract that clearly says—”
She cut me off. “My fiancé is a lawyer! We’ll SUE you into the ground if you don’t do what we want!”
Then I heard some shuffling on the line. A man’s voice replaced hers—stern, practiced, and full of arrogance.
“This is Blake. Who am I speaking with?”
“This is Sarah. I’m the catering manager,” I said calmly. “I was explaining to Camille—”
“Listen carefully,” he said coldly. “This is our wedding. We get what we want. I don’t care what the contract says.”
“Sir, we’ve already prepped and purchased everything based on the original menu.”
“Then un-prep it!” he barked. “You’re the vendor. You work for us.”
I tried to keep my tone even. “Sir, again, the contract—”
“You’re fired,” he interrupted. “We don’t need you. Don’t show up tomorrow.”
For a moment, I stood there in silence, stunned. Fired?
“Sir,” I said firmly, “you should know the contract includes a cancellation clause. Less than 24 hours’ notice means you’re still responsible for 90% of the payment.”
He laughed. An ugly, smug laugh.
“Good luck making that stick,” he sneered. “We’ll find someone else and make you pay the difference.”
Click.
He hung up.
The kitchen was silent. Everyone had stopped chopping, cooking, prepping. All eyes were on me.
“So…” my line cook Miguel finally said, “Do we stop prepping?”
I looked at the food. Half-trimmed steaks. Steaming saucepans. Everything halfway done. But something inside me said: Don’t stop.
“No,” I said. “Keep going. Finish everything exactly as planned.”
“But… they fired us,” Leila whispered.
I looked them in the eyes. “Trust me.”
So we worked until midnight. We prepped every single plate. I sent everyone home and told them to be ready to cater the wedding the next day.
Some of them looked at me like I was nuts.
That night, I barely slept. What if I was wrong? What if they did find another caterer? If this flopped, Tom would lose trust in me… and maybe his business.
Then, at 7 a.m., my phone rang.
It was Blake.
I answered groggily. “Hello?”
“You better be at the venue with our food today,” he barked. “Or we’ll sue you for breach of contract.”
I shot up in bed. This was it.
“Sir,” I said calmly, “you terminated our contract yesterday. As per clause 9, we keep 90% of the total. If you want food today, that’s a new contract. Same-day rate—three times the original cost. Payment upfront. Menu based on what we have available. And we reserve the right to refuse service.”
Dead silence.
“That’s extortion,” he finally growled.
“No, sir,” I said. “That’s business. Take it or leave it.”
More silence.
“Fine,” he spat. “But I want seafood.”
I smiled. Gotcha.
“Our inventory is based on the original contract. So today’s menu is steak. Take it or leave it.”
“This is ridiculous! I’m a paying customer!”
“And we’re a private company. If you keep yelling, we walk. So what’s it going to be? Steak at $22,000—or nothing at all?”
He let out a furious breath. “Fine. Steak. But it better be perfect.”
“It always is. We’ll be there by noon. Please have the check ready. I’ll email the invoice.”
We arrived right on time. The wedding planner looked so relieved when she saw us.
In the distance, I spotted Camille in her white gown, pacing and barking into her phone.
Before we unloaded anything, I found Blake near the entrance. He looked sharp in a tuxedo, but the stress on his face was obvious.
“Before we begin, I need the signed contract and full payment,” I told him.
He looked at the papers, muttered, “This is robbery,” but signed and handed over the check.
While the team set up, I drove straight to the nearest bank and deposited it.
But when I returned, my blood boiled.
Jen, my assistant manager, pulled me aside immediately.
“Blake’s been harassing the team,” she whispered. “He told Miguel that if anything goes wrong, he’ll have him deported.”
“What?” I gasped. “Miguel was born in San Diego!”
“I know! Miguel told him that. And Blake just laughed and said, ‘We’ll see about that.’”
That was it.
I marched straight over to Blake. He stood with a group of groomsmen, looking smug.
“Threaten my staff again,” I said loudly, “and we walk. Contract or no contract.”
He stuttered, “I didn’t—”
“Save it. I don’t care about your money. Don’t mess with my people. Are we clear?”
He glared at me. Then gave a stiff nod.
From there, the event went smoothly. The steaks were delicious, the service flawless.
Guests complimented us all night, not knowing how close the wedding had come to falling apart. Camille and Blake didn’t say a single word to me. They wouldn’t even look at me.
Three weeks later, I got a legal notice. Blake was suing us for “predatory pricing” and “breach of contract.”
I wasn’t even surprised.
I gave everything to our lawyer: the signed contracts, the call recordings (which we told all clients about in our service agreement), and the check receipt.
When the judge saw it, he ruled in our favor instantly.
Even better—he made Blake pay for our legal fees.
“The court doesn’t appreciate bullies,” the judge said, peering over his glasses. “Especially ones who should know better, considering their profession.”
Six months later, Tom was healthy enough to return part-time. I told him the whole story.
He laughed until he cried.
“You made more off that wedding than I would’ve made from three!” he wheezed. “Maybe I should get sick more often!”
“Don’t you dare,” I warned.
Just last week, I got curious and looked up Camille and Blake on Facebook.
Divorced.
Not even three years after that ridiculous wedding.
Guess they got the taste of karma… medium rare.