It was a normal morning at the health food store, the fresh smell of fruits and herbal teas filling the air. I had been working there for about a year, and it was how I was supporting myself and my family. As I tied my apron, something felt off, like today wasn’t going to be just any day.
“Hey, Grace! Ready for another thrilling day of juice-making?” Ally, my coworker, joked from behind the counter.
I chuckled and shook my head. “Yep, gotta keep those entitled customers happy, right?”
But deep down, I wasn’t feeling as lighthearted. There was one particular customer who always ruined our day. Every. Single. Time.
We nicknamed her “Miss Pompous” because, well, it fit. She strutted in like she owned the place, acting like we were just there to serve her every whim.
As I began my shift, I pushed thoughts of her aside. I needed this job more than anything. It wasn’t just for me. My mom had mounting medical bills, and my younger sister needed help with her college expenses. I couldn’t quit, no matter how bad things got.
A little while later, Ally leaned over and whispered, “Heads up. Miss Pompous just pulled into the parking lot.”
My heart sank. “Great,” I muttered. “Just what I needed today.”
The bell over the door chimed, and there she was, her fancy designer heels clicking on the floor as she made her way to the counter, not even looking at me. She marched right up and demanded, “Carrot juice. Now.”
I forced a smile, though my nerves were shot. “Of course, ma’am. Coming right up.”
As I worked, I could feel her staring at me, watching every little thing I did. My hands were shaking from the pressure, but I tried my best to ignore her. Finally, I handed her the juice, hoping that would be the end of it.
She took one sip and immediately scrunched her face in disgust. “What is this watered-down garbage?” she shrieked so loudly that heads turned. Before I could react, she flung the drink right into my face.
The cold juice splashed all over me, dripping down my face and soaking my shirt. I stood there, stunned, as she ranted at me. “Are you trying to poison me?” she demanded.
I wiped the juice from my eyes and stammered, “It’s the same recipe we always use.”
“Make it again,” she snapped, glaring at me. “And this time, use your brain.”
My cheeks burned with humiliation. The whole store had gone quiet, and everyone was staring. I felt tears welling up, but I swallowed them down. No way was I letting her see me cry.
Just then, my manager, Mr. Weatherbee, walked over. “Is there a problem here?” he asked, though his tone made it clear he was more worried about losing a customer than anything else.
Miss Pompous turned her fury on him. “Your employee can’t even make a simple juice! I demand a refund and a replacement.”
To my shock, Mr. Weatherbee started apologizing immediately. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. We’ll remake your juice, free of charge. Grace, be more careful next time.”
My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe it. “But sir, I—”
“Just get the carrots, Grace, and remake the juice,” he interrupted, not even listening.
Miss Pompous gave me a smug look, clearly loving my humiliation. Anger bubbled inside me. I wanted to rip off my apron and walk out, but I couldn’t. I thought about my mom and sister. I needed this job.
Taking a deep breath, I made a decision right then and there. I wasn’t going to let her win.
I looked Miss Pompous dead in the eye, refusing to back down. She thought her money gave her power, that she could walk all over people without consequence. Not today.
As Mr. Weatherbee walked away, I headed to the fridge, but instead of grabbing the usual carrots, I picked the biggest, ugliest one I could find. This one was tough and gnarled, perfect for what I had in mind.
“Just a moment,” I said sweetly, feeding the oversized carrot into the juicer. The machine groaned and sputtered as it struggled to juice the massive carrot. Then, with a loud spray, juice splattered everywhere—across the counter, the floor, and best of all, onto Miss Pompous’s expensive designer handbag.
She screamed, grabbing her bag and frantically trying to wipe off the orange juice. “My bag! You stupid girl! Look what you’ve done!”
I tried to keep a straight face, pretending to be concerned. “Oh no, I’m so sorry, ma’am. It was an accident, I swear.”
Her face turned beet red with anger. “You ruined my three-thousand-dollar purse! I want your manager!”
Trying not to laugh, I nodded toward the store. “I think he’s helping another customer right now.”
She stomped off, furious, in search of Mr. Weatherbee. I ducked into the stockroom, finally letting myself grin. I peeked out, watching as she stormed out of the store, clutching her dripping purse and leaving a trail of carrot juice behind her.
I thought that was the end of it, but I knew Miss Pompous wasn’t the type to let things go.
Sure enough, the next morning, she came back into the store, her face a mask of fury. She demanded to see the owner. Mr. Larson, the kind, older man who owned the store, came out to meet her. She immediately launched into a long, dramatic rant, demanding that I be fired and insisting she be compensated for her ruined purse.
Mr. Larson listened calmly, and then, with a steady voice, he said, “Let’s check the security footage.”
My stomach twisted in knots. I had completely forgotten about the cameras.
We all gathered around the monitor, and the footage played. There it was—Miss Pompous throwing the juice in my face, and then the “accident” with her purse. The store was silent as the video played.
Mr. Larson turned to Miss Pompous. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you any compensation. What I see here is an assault on my employee. If anyone should be considering legal action, it’s us.”
Miss Pompous sputtered, completely taken aback. “But… my purse!”
“I suggest you leave,” Mr. Larson said firmly. “And don’t come back.”
Miss Pompous threw one last glare in my direction before storming out.
Once she was gone, Mr. Larson turned to me, his eyes twinkling. “That was just an accident, right, Grace?”
I grinned. “Of course, sir. Why would I intentionally ruin a customer’s belongings?”
He chuckled and walked away. Ally came over, grinning from ear to ear. “You stood up to her, Grace! You showed her who’s boss!”
That night, as I told my mom and sister what had happened, I realized something important. Standing up to Miss Pompous hadn’t just put her in her place—it had reminded me of my own strength and worth.
