When an obnoxious couple show up at the café Mia works at, she cringes at the thought of having to wait on them. But things go from bad to worse when an advance is made on Mia. Soon, the café manager gets involved and Mia has to face the music…
Working the evening shift at the café was usually a breeze. And the tips were better, too. I had my routine down pat, and despite being thirty and still single, I loved my job.
Sure, it wasn’t something glamorous, but it was mine and it sustained me. And to make it even better, my coworkers were like family.
“Hey Mia, it’s Friday night,” Larissa, my coworker, said. “Think that sweet old couple will drop by?”
“Oh, I really hope so,” I replied. “They promised to bring pictures of their new granddaughter last week.”
I loved it. Our regulars brought a comforting predictability to my days.
But that night, everything changed.
As I was putting my apron back on after a cigarette break, a couple walked in. And from the moment they stepped through the door, I knew they were trouble.
The girl, with her overdone hair, flashy gold jewelry, and constant scowl, and the guy, with his cocky swagger, headed straight for my section.
“Great,” I mouthed to Larissa, rolling my eyes.
“Excuse me,” the girl snapped her fingers. “We’ve been sitting here for three minutes. Are you disabled or something?”
I bit back my retort, plastered on my customer service smile, and approached their table.
“Good evening, how can I help you?” I asked, placing their menus down in front of them.
“Stand here until we decide on our order,” the girl demanded.
So, I stood, and I waited. Finally, the girl started to talk.
“I’ll have a tuna salad sandwich, and sweet potato fries, extra crispy. And a lemonade.”
“And I’ll have the steak tacos with roasted corn on the side. And a lemonade, too.”
They rattled off their order, each item delivered with an undertone of contempt. I walked away, mentally bracing myself for the rest of the evening.
Not five minutes after giving their order to the kitchen, the girl called me over again.
“Our drinks?” she asked simply.
“They’re on their way,” I said. “Just bear with us. As you can see, the café is quite busy this evening.”
The girl sniffed and turned to face her boyfriend.
As the drinks came, I promptly delivered them before the girl could retaliate any further.
“This isn’t what I ordered,” she said, pushing the glass closer to me and spilling lemonade onto the table.
“Are you deaf?” she thundered. “I want a gin and tonic!”
“I’m sorry, I thought you said lemonade,” I replied.
“Don’t think,” the boyfriend interrupted, his voice dry. “Just get it right. You get paid for this job, don’t you?”
I hurried back to the counter, my hands shaking. It wasn’t the first time I’d dealt with difficult customers, but something about them was particularly cruel.
I mixed the drink myself and took it back to the table, trying to remain professional.
I did the same thing when their food came in. As I set down their plates, the girl took a large gulp of her drink, not paying attention to me.
Which was when the sleazy boyfriend’s hand “accidentally” brushed against my leg. He looked up and smiled, a smug, predatory grin.
“Excuse me,” I said, stepping back, my voice shaking with anger. “Don’t touch me.”
The girl turned on me, eyes blazing.
“Are you accusing my boyfriend of something? Are you really that low? You’re lying!” she barked.
But before I could respond, my boss, Mr. Grant, appeared at my side.
At first, I was comforted by his presence. I had worked with him for years, and I knew that he would diffuse the situation before it got any worse.
But I was wrong.
“What seems to be the problem here?” he asked.
“Your waitress is accusing my boyfriend of… of… something inappropriate!” the girl shrieked. “We’ve done nothing wrong!”
I quickly explained the situation, my voice trembling. “But Mr. Grant, he touched me! It wasn’t an accident!”
Mr. Grant turned to me, his expression unreadable.
“Mia, the customer is always right. You shouldn’t have retaliated in that way.”
My heart sank.
“But Mr. Grant,” I said, trying to explain.
“Enough!” he cut me off loudly. “I’m sorry, Mia, but I cannot have this kind of behavior from my staff. You’re fired.”
I stood there, stunned. Fired? For defending myself. I gathered my things, my face burning with humiliation, and left the café without another word.
But the next day, I couldn’t let it go. I paced around my little apartment trying to figure out what I wanted to do. I couldn’t just accept the fact that I had just lost my job.
So, I marched my way back into the café, but this time as a customer.
Mr. Grant saw me as I walked in, and he approached me cautiously.
“Mia, what are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’m here to eat, Jacob,” I said. “As a customer. And I’d like you to serve me. Personally.”
He looked surprised but nodded.
“Alright,” he said. “I can do that.”
I took a seat at a corner table, the same one where the couple had humiliated me.
“Okay, Mia,” he said, holding a menu. “What can I get you to drink while you eat?”
“A coffee,” I said. “Just a dash of milk, okay?”
I started by being polite, but then I began to change my order.
“I didn’t want eggs benedict, Jacob,” I said. “I wanted a frittata with extra mushrooms and a side of roast potatoes.”
I called him over repeatedly, each time with a new complaint.
“This coffee is cold,” I snapped. “Are you even trying, Jacob?”
His face reddened with frustration.
“Mia, this is unreasonable,” he said, glancing around at the rest of the customers.
“Oh, I’m being unreasonable?” I shot back. “I wonder what the owner of this café would think if he heard how you treated me yesterday. That was an unfair dismissal and you know it.”
He flinched and took a deep breath.
“You wouldn’t,” he said.
“Try me.”
Mr. Grant took a deep breath and then did something I never expected.
“Mia, I’m sorry,” he said, sitting down across from me. “You were right. The principle ‘the customer is always right’ isn’t a perfect one, but it keeps us thriving because customers think that they have a big say in everything. You shouldn’t have been fired.”
I leaned back, savoring the moment.
“Apology accepted. So, do I get my job back?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “You can have your job back.”
A week later, I was back at work, feeling a mix of vindication and relief. I was clearing a table when I saw them. The couple who had gotten me fired.
They walked in, looking just as obnoxious as ever.
Before they could sit down, Mr. Grant intercepted them. “You’re denied entry. You’re on our blacklist.”
The girl looked outraged and swung her handbag in frustration.
“What nonsense is that? The customer is always right!” she exclaimed.
“That’s true,” Mr. Grant said. “But it only applies to customers who aren’t on the blacklist.”
I couldn’t help but smile as they stormed out, their faces red with anger. Mr. Grant turned to me and gave me a nod of approval.
Sure, it wasn’t a perfect world, but for that moment, justice had been served.
“Mia!” Anita exclaimed as she and Roger, her husband, walked in.
They were my regular Friday evening customers, and I loved waiting on them.
“Come on in!” I said, leading them to their usual table. “And you better have those baby photos!”
“Oh, honey,” Anita said. “You bring me my green tea, and I’ll show you at least a hundred photos!”
What would you have done?
