When an entitled customer threw her drink in my face, humiliating me in front of everyone, she assumed I’d just take it quietly. Little did she know, she was in for a surprise—and a lesson she wouldn’t forget.
That morning, I stepped into the health food store, the familiar scent of fresh produce and herbal teas greeting me. It was the start of another day at work, where I’d been earning a living for the past year. As I tied my apron, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different today.
“Hey, Grace! Ready for another thrilling day of juice-making?” my coworker Ally joked from behind the counter.
I laughed, shaking my head. “Yep, gotta keep those entitled customers happy, right?”
But the knot in my stomach told me otherwise. There was one customer who made our jobs miserable every time she came in.
We had dubbed her “Miss Pompous,” and it was a fitting name. She walked in like she owned the place, treating us like we were beneath her.
As I began my shift, I tried to put her out of my mind. I needed this job. It wasn’t just about me—it was about my family. My mom’s medical bills were piling up, and my younger sister was counting on me to help with college expenses. Quitting wasn’t an option.
A few minutes later, Ally leaned in close. “Heads up,” she whispered. “Miss Pompous just pulled into the parking lot.”
My stomach dropped. “Great,” I muttered. “Just what I needed to start my day.”
The bell above the door chimed, and in she walked, her designer heels clicking like a countdown to disaster. Without even acknowledging me, she strutted up to the counter and barked her order.
“Carrot juice. Now.”
I forced a smile. “Of course, ma’am. Coming right up.”
As I worked, I could feel her eyes on me, scrutinizing my every move. My hands began to shake under the pressure. Finally, I handed her the juice.
She took one sip and her face twisted in disgust. “What is this watered-down garbage?” she screeched. Before I could react, she hurled the entire drink at my face.
The cold juice splashed across my cheeks, dripping down my chin. I stood there, stunned, as she continued to rant. “Are you trying to poison me?” she demanded.
I blinked, wiping juice from my eyes. “It’s the same recipe we always use,” I stammered.
“Make it again,” she snapped. “And this time, use your brain.”
My face burned with humiliation as everyone in the store turned to watch. Tears threatened to spill, but I refused to let her see me cry.
Just then, my manager, Mr. Weatherbee, appeared. “Is there a problem here?” he asked, though his concern seemed more for the loss of a customer than for me.
Miss Pompous turned on him. “Your employee can’t even make a simple juice! I demand a refund and a replacement.”
To my disbelief, Mr. Weatherbee began apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. We’ll remake your juice immediately, free of charge.” Then he turned to me. “Grace, be more careful next time.”
I stood there, dumbfounded. My jaw dropped. “But sir, I—”
“Just get the carrots, Grace,” he interrupted, “and remake the juice.”
Miss Pompous smirked at me, clearly enjoying my humiliation. I felt a surge of anger. For a split second, I wanted to throw my apron down and walk out. But then I thought of my mom and sister—I couldn’t afford to lose this job.
So, I took a deep breath and made a decision. I wasn’t going to let her win.
I met Miss Pompous’s gaze, refusing to be intimidated. She thought she could buy respect with her money, that she could trample over people without consequences. Well, not this time.
As Mr. Weatherbee walked away, I reached into the fridge, bypassing the usual carrots. Instead, I grabbed the biggest, gnarliest one I could find. It was tough and unwieldy, perfect for what I had in mind.
“Just a moment,” I said, sweetly, as I fed the oversized carrot into the juicer. The machine groaned in protest before spraying juice everywhere—across the counter, the floor, and best of all, onto Miss Pompous’s designer handbag.
She shrieked, snatching her bag and frantically trying to wipe off the bright orange juice. “My bag!” she cried. “You stupid girl! Look what you’ve done!”
“Oh no, I’m so sorry, ma’am,” I said, struggling to keep a straight face. “It was an accident, I swear.”
Her face turned beet red. “You ruined my three-thousand-dollar purse! I want your manager!”
Trying not to laugh, I gestured vaguely toward the store. “I think he’s helping a customer over there.”
As she stomped off in search of Mr. Weatherbee, I ducked into the stockroom to hide my smile. From my hiding spot, I watched as she stormed out, still clutching her dripping bag, leaving a trail of carrot juice in her wake.
I thought it was over, but I knew Miss Pompous wasn’t the type to let things go.
Sure enough, the next morning, she burst into the store, demanding to see the owner. When Mr. Larson, the kind, older man who owned the store, came out, she launched into a tirade, insisting I be fired and demanding compensation for her ruined purse.
Calmly, Mr. Larson replied, “Let’s check the security footage.”
My heart skipped a beat. I had completely forgotten about the cameras.
We gathered around the monitor as the footage played, showing Miss Pompous throwing juice in my face and the “accident” with her purse. The room fell silent.
Mr. Larson turned to her. “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 in disbelief. “But… my purse!”
“I suggest you leave,” Mr. Larson said firmly. “And don’t come back.”
With one final glare, Miss Pompous stormed out.
Once she was gone, Mr. Larson turned to me, his eyes twinkling. “That was just an accident, right, Grace?”
“Of course, sir,” I said with a grin. “Why would I intentionally ruin a customer’s belongings?”
He chuckled and walked away. Ally gave me a high five. “You stood up to her, Grace! You showed her who’s boss.”
That night, as I shared the story with my mom and sister, I realized something important: standing up for myself hadn’t just put Miss Pompous in her place—it reminded me of my own worth.
Have you ever had to deal with someone like Miss Pompous? Share your stories in the comments. Together, we can take on the “Karens” of the world!
Entitled Guy on Plane Treats Flight Attendant Like Trash, Orders Her to Clean His Shoes – But Karma Hits Him Hard Immediately
When an entitled businessman, Todd, boards a flight and begins berating the flight attendant, his arrogance hits a new low when he demands she clean his shoes mid-flight. But karma strikes fast when a powerful stranger steps in, flipping the script in a shocking twist.
I settled into my first-class seat, grateful for the perk of a free upgrade after a grueling week of business meetings.
Interior of an airplane | Source: Unsplash
The quiet hum of the cabin was a welcome respite from the chaos of the airport. I closed my eyes, ready to savor these moments of peace before takeoff.
But the universe had other plans.
The unmistakable sound of expensive shoes on the carpet caught my attention. I cracked open an eye to see a man strutting down the aisle like he owned the plane.
Everything about him screamed “I’m better than you,” from his perfectly tailored suit to the designer sunglasses perched on his nose.
A man on a plane | Source: Midjourney
Even in first class, he stood out.
As he approached his seat across the aisle from me, I caught the eye of Samantha, our flight attendant. She gave me a warm smile, but I noticed a flicker of… something in her eyes. Resignation? She’d clearly dealt with his type before.
“Welcome aboard, sir,” Samantha said, her voice professional and pleasant. “Can I help you with your bag?”
A flight attendant | Source: Midjourney
The man (I’d later learn his name was Todd) barely glanced at her.
“It’s fine,” he muttered, shoving his carry-on into the overhead bin with more force than necessary.
I sighed internally. It was going to be one of those flights.
As the rest of the passengers filed in, Todd made himself comfortable, spreading out like a peacock. He snapped his fingers at Samantha, who was helping an elderly woman to her seat.
“Hey, you,” he barked. “I need a drink.”
A man on a plane | Source: Midjourney
Samantha finished assisting the woman before turning to Todd with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course, sir. What can I get for you?”
Todd didn’t even look up from his phone. “Scotch. Make it fast.”
I watched as Samantha’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “I’ll get that for you right away, sir.”
A few minutes later, she returned with his drink. Todd took one sip and wrinkled his nose like a toddler presented with broccoli.
A glass | Source: Pexels
“This tastes horrible,” he spat. “You call this service? Get me another one.”
Samantha’s face remained a mask of calm, but I could see the strain around her eyes. “I’ll be right back, sir,” she replied before heading off to prepare another drink.
When she returned with the second scotch, Todd didn’t even bother to thank her. Instead, he looked down at his shoes, which had the tiniest speck of dust on them. What happened next made my blood boil.
A pair of shoes | Source: Pexels
Todd kicked his foot out towards Samantha and sneered, “While you’re at it, clean my shoes! You’re here to serve me, aren’t you?”
The entire cabin went silent. I felt my fingernails digging into my palms as I clenched my fists.
Samantha froze for a moment, and I could see the muscles in her jaw working as she forced a smile. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not able to assist with that.”
Todd scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “Then what are you here for?”
A man on a plane waving | Source: Midjourney
“You should be thankful someone like me is even flying with this airline,” he continued. “The least you can do is keep the drinks coming and make yourself useful. Who knows? I might even tip you.”
I nearly choked. Tip her? On a plane? Who did this guy think he was?
Samantha, ever the professional, just nodded and walked away, probably to keep herself from saying something she’d regret.
As she passed by my seat, I caught her eye and mouthed, “I’m so sorry.” She gave me a small, grateful smile before continuing down the aisle.
Interior of an airplane | Source: Unsplash
The flight took off, and Todd’s behavior only got worse. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion: horrifying, yet impossible to look away from. Every few minutes, he’d find something new to complain about, each grievance more ridiculous than the last.
“Hey!” Todd’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the engines. “It’s freezing in here. Do something about it!”
Samantha appeared at his side, ever patient. “I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable, sir. I’ll adjust the temperature for this section.”
A flight attendant | Source: Midjourney
But of course, that wasn’t good enough for Todd. “Well, don’t just stand there. Get me a blanket. And make it snappy!”
I watched as Samantha retreated to fetch the demanded blanket, her shoulders tight with tension. Across the aisle, an older gentleman caught my eye and shook his head in disbelief.
No sooner had Samantha returned with the blanket than Todd was onto his next complaint. “This Wi-Fi is garbage,” he growled, jabbing at his tablet. “I’m trying to do important business here. Can’t you make it go faster?”
A scowling man | Source: Unsplash
“I apologize, sir,” Samantha replied, her voice strained but professional. “Unfortunately, the Wi-Fi speed is affected by our altitude and location. We don’t have control over-“
“Excuses!” Todd interrupted. “I pay good money for this seat. I expect better service.”
A woman a few rows ahead turned around, glaring daggers at Todd. For a moment, I thought she might say something, but she just huffed and turned back around.
The litany of complaints continued. Todd’s seat wasn’t comfortable enough. His drink wasn’t cold enough. The lighting was too bright, then too dim. At one point, he even had the audacity to complain about the angle of his tray table.
A flight attendant speaking to a passenger | Source: Unsplash
“This thing is crooked,” he snapped, gesturing at the perfectly level surface. “How am I supposed to work like this?”
Samantha leaned in to examine the tray. “It appears to be level, sir. Is there something specific that’s bothering you about it?”
Todd rolled his eyes dramatically. “Of course you can’t see it. Just get me the captain. Maybe he can do something about this incompetence.”
I could almost hear the collective intake of breath from the surrounding passengers. The tension in the cabin was palpable, a rubber band stretched to its limit.
First-class passengers on a plane | Source: Midjourney
That’s when I noticed movement a few rows back. A tall man in his mid-50s stood up, adjusting his casual blazer. He made his way towards Todd, and I found myself holding my breath.
“Todd?” the man said, his voice deep and commanding. “I thought that was you.”
Todd’s head snapped up, and I swear I saw all the color drain from his face. “Mr. Harris!” he squeaked, scrambling to his feet. “I… I didn’t know you were on this flight.”
A man in a suit | Source: Pexels
Mr. Harris, who was clearly Todd’s boss, smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Evidently not,” he said coolly. “I’ve been enjoying quite the show from my seat back there.”
Todd’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Sir, I can explain–”
Mr. Harris held up a hand, cutting him off. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary, Todd. Your behavior has been… illuminating.”
I couldn’t help but lean in, trying to catch every word of this exchange.
A woman | Source: Midjourney
Around me, I noticed other passengers doing the same, all of us united in our schadenfreude.
“Tell me, Todd,” Mr. Harris continued, his voice deceptively calm, “do you think this is how we expect our employees to conduct themselves? Berating service staff, making unreasonable demands, acting as though the world revolves around you?”
Todd opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. “I… I was just…”
“You were just embarrassing yourself and, by extension, our company,” Mr. Harris finished for him, adjusting his cufflinks.
A man adjusting his cufflinks | Source: Pexels
“I’m curious, do you treat your colleagues this way? Your subordinates?”
Todd’s face had gone from pale to a sickly shade of green. “Of course not, sir,” he mumbled.
Mr. Harris raised an eyebrow. “No? Then why do you think it’s acceptable to treat the hardworking staff of this airline any differently?” He paused, letting the question hang in the air.
“You know, Todd, since you seem so concerned about cleanliness, perhaps you’d like to shine your own shoes when we land. After all, isn’t that what you’re here for? To be useful?”
A thoughtful man | Source: Pexels
I had to bite my lip to keep from cheering out loud. Around me, I could see other passengers struggling to contain their glee.
“Mr. Harris, please,” Todd stammered, “I promise it won’t happen again.”
His boss fixed him with a steely gaze. “You’re right about that, Todd. When we land, you and I are going to have a very serious conversation about your future with the company. Or rather, your lack thereof.”
A man with a steely gaze | Source: Midjourney
With that, Mr. Harris turned on his heel and walked back to his seat, leaving Todd standing there, shell-shocked and humiliated.
For the rest of the flight, Todd was a changed man. He sat quietly, avoiding eye contact with everyone. When Samantha came by to collect trash, he mumbled a barely audible “thank you” without looking up.
As we began our descent, I caught Samantha’s eye again. This time, her smile was genuine, reaching all the way to her eyes. I gave her a little thumbs up, and she winked in return.
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