She Called Me “Just a Waitress.” She Didn’t Know I Owned the Place.

Ever have your past crash into your present? I was wiping tables at my restaurant when I heard that laugh — the one I hadn’t heard since high school. Heather. My old bully, back with her posse.

She walked in, looked me up and down, and smirked. “Still wiping tables? Guess that’s all you ever amounted to.”

She laughed. Her friends joined in. I stayed calm. Then she snapped her fingers at me. “Hey waitress, get us water. Or is that too hard for you?”

Before I could speak, Jack — my sous-chef — stepped up beside me. “You don’t talk to her like that.” Then Maria, Sarah, the whole team rallied around me.

Heather scoffed. “We’ll speak to your manager.”

I smiled. “You already have. I am the manager. Actually… I own this place.”

Her face dropped. Silence. Then cheers from my team.

Jack clapped me on the back. “Best boss we’ve ever had.” Heather tried to backpedal, but it was over. I looked her in the eye: “Next time, think before you speak.”

She left. No words. No power.

Karma, served hot — with a side of justice.