The moment I stepped into the health food store, the familiar scent of fresh produce and herbal teas filled the air. As I tied my apron, I couldn’t shake the feeling that today would be different.
“Hey, Grace! Ready for another day of juice-making?” Ally called.
“Of course,” I replied, though a knot formed in my stomach, thinking of a regular customer we called “Miss Pompous,” who always made things difficult.
Ally whispered, “She’s here,” and I braced myself. Miss Pompous strutted up to the counter, ordered a carrot juice, and watched me closely as I made it. When she tasted it, she threw the juice in my face, calling it “disgusting.”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment as the other customers stared. My manager, Mr. Weatherbee, apologized to her, and I was forced to remake the juice, humiliated.
Later, as I juiced a carrot, I grabbed the biggest, gnarliest one I could find, making sure Miss Pompous was watching. When I juiced it, the machine sprayed carrot juice everywhere, including on her designer purse. She freaked out, demanding compensation.
Feigning innocence, I suggested she talk to the manager, then hid in the stockroom, watching as she stormed out.
The next day, Miss Pompous returned, demanding my firing for ruining her purse. But Mr. Larson, the owner, reviewed the security footage and sided with me, telling her to leave.
Ally high-fived me. “You stood up to her!” I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in months.
That night, as I shared the story with my family, I realized standing up for myself had been a powerful reminder of my worth.
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