You ever have one of those moments where your past shows up when you least expect it? There I was, going about my day at the cozy little restaurant I manage, when I came face-to-face with someone from my high school years—the girl who made those years unbearable.
Picture this: I’m wiping down tables, just minding my own business. It’s a quiet, welcoming spot, the kind of place where the regulars know your name and probably your life story. Today, I was helping out more than usual because Beth, one of our pregnant waitresses, wasn’t feeling well, and we all pitched in to make sure she could rest. We’re a tight-knit crew, like family, and we help each other out without a second thought.
While I was scrubbing one of the back tables, I heard it—the unmistakable sound of laughter that immediately took me back to high school. My stomach tightened, and I knew before even looking up who it was.
It was Heather Parker.
Heather was the queen bee in high school, the girl who ruled the social scene and made my life miserable. Alongside her faithful sidekicks, Hannah and Melissa, she’d mock me about everything—my clothes, my dreams, you name it. And now, she walked into my restaurant with that same smug look, her laugh ringing out just as it had all those years ago.
I froze for a moment, still gripping the cloth in my hand, hoping they wouldn’t see me. But of course, Heather’s eyes found mine, and that familiar smirk spread across her face. “Well, well, well. Still wiping down tables, huh? Guess that’s all you ever amounted to.”
She spoke loudly enough for the whole restaurant to hear, and her friends laughed along with her, just like they always had. I could feel my face heating up, but I kept scrubbing, trying to brush it off. I wasn’t the same person I was in high school, but old memories have a way of creeping up on you.
Heather wasn’t done. She mocked me again, this time about my high school dreams, wondering aloud if this was really what I had hoped for back then. The insults were sharp, but I kept my cool. Then, she snapped her fingers at me like I was some kind of servant. “Hey, waitress, think you can get us some water? Or is that too difficult for you?”
Just as I was about to respond, I heard footsteps behind me. Jack, our sous-chef, appeared from the kitchen, his arms crossed, his eyes locked on Heather. “You don’t talk to her like that,” he said firmly, his presence making me feel less alone.
Maria, our head chef, quickly joined us, her face set in determination. “If you’ve got a problem, you can take it somewhere else. We don’t tolerate disrespect here,” she added.
Heather rolled her eyes, flipping her hair dismissively. “Oh, please. We’re just being honest,” she said, her voice dripping with arrogance. She then demanded to speak to the manager, confident she was about to put me in my place.
That’s when I decided I’d had enough. Wiping my hands on my towel, I stepped forward and met Heather’s gaze. “You already are,” I said calmly. “I’m the manager here. Actually, I own the place.”
For the first time, Heather looked genuinely shocked. Her smirk vanished, and her confidence crumbled as she realized the situation. The restaurant fell silent, and for a moment, nobody moved.
Then, the room erupted into cheers. My team clapped and hollered, celebrating with me. Jack grinned, patting me on the back, while Sarah, our bartender, gave me a proud wink. Heather and her friends stood there, speechless, their faces red with embarrassment. They quickly gathered their things and scurried out the door, the sound of the bell as they left feeling like a weight lifting off my shoulders.
“Karma,” I said with a smile, “served with a side of justice.”
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