Goodstorie

There’s something about working at a family restaurant that makes you see people at their absolute best and their absolute worst. I’m 18, and my parents own a small but busy restaurant named **Joe’s**, after my grandparents. It’s a cozy little spot where we serve quick bites, sandwiches, cakes, snacks, and other fast meals. I help out whenever I have free time; it keeps me busy, helps my parents, and honestly, the extra cash doesn’t hurt. My dad even lets me keep the tips I earn, which is a sweet deal.

Since Joe’s is a family-run place, my parents are always around, but you’d be surprised how many people don’t realize they own the restaurant. Most of the regular customers just assume they’re employees, and my parents never bother correcting them, unless necessary.

The Arrival of Karen

Weekends are always crazy at Joe’s. The small dining area fills up quickly, orders keep coming in, and we hustle to keep things running smoothly. It was on one of these hectic weekends that **Karen** walked in: a storm in high heels, armed with a bratty kid and an attitude big enough to fill the entire restaurant. And that’s when things got interesting.

Karen looked like she was in her late 30s or early 40s: perfectly styled hair, expensive sunglasses perched on her head, and a phone glued to her hand. Her son, however, was the real problem. The kid, about 12 or 13, immediately started running around the restaurant, yelling at the top of his lungs like he was at recess. He bumped into tables, stepped on people’s feet, and, God help me, he even stuck his grubby little hands into someone’s fries.

I was at the register, keeping an eye on things when I saw it happen. I marched over, grabbed the kid gently by the arm, and in my best “I am not playing around” voice, I said, “Kid, you need to sit down now.” Well, you would have thought I had just committed a federal crime. The boy’s eyes widened, his lip quivered, and then, cue the waterworks! He ran straight back to his mother, crying as if I had thrown him into the deep fryer. And that’s when Karen exploded.

The Epic Backfire

She stormed up to me, heels clicking against the floor like she was marching into battle. “How dare you touch my child!” she shrieked, loud enough to make the entire restaurant turn their heads. I took a deep breath and kept my voice calm. “Ma’am, your son was disturbing other customers. He was handling their food and—”

She cut me off. “He’s a child! He can do whatever he wants!”

I blinked. “Oh, so we’re doing that today? Ma’am, this is a restaurant, not a playground.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you even know who I am?” Ah, there it was: the classic Karen battle cry. I crossed my arms. “No, ma’am, I don’t.”

She tossed her hair dramatically and sneered, “I am the owner’s wife!”

Oh. Oh, that was new. See, I expected her to say she was a friend of the owner or maybe a family member, but no, she went straight for “wife.” Now, I could have shut her down right then and there, but where’s the fun in that? So I decided to play along.

“Oh no!” I gasped, eyes wide with fake panic. “I didn’t realize! Please don’t get me fired!”

She smirked, satisfied with my reaction. “That’s right,” she said, crossing her arms, “and you better start showing me some respect or you’ll never work in this restaurant again!” I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Oh, lady, you have no idea.

Karen marched over to the cashier and demanded to speak to the manager. Enter my dad. Dad came out from the back, wiping his hands on a towel. “Is there a problem, ma’am?”

Karen turned on the drama. “Yes! Your employee was incredibly rude to my son! I want him fired now!”

My dad looked at me, then back at her, completely unfazed. “I see. And you are?”

Karen flipped her hair again. “I am your wife!”

Silence. My dad stared at her. I stared at her. The entire restaurant was holding their breath. And then Dad burst out laughing. Karen’s face twisted in confusion. “What’s so funny?!”

Still chuckling, my dad shook his head. “Ma’am, I’m sorry for the confusion, but I’m very much not married to you.” Karen’s confidence cracked for the first time. She blinked. “What?!”

And then came the best part. Still trying to keep up her act, she pulled out her phone. “Well, I’m calling my husband right now! We’ll see who gets the last laugh!” She dialed the number posted on the restaurant’s front board—the official number for Joe’s. My dad’s phone rang right in front of her. Karen’s face drained of all color. Her jaw dropped. Dad pulled his phone out of his pocket, held it up, and answered. “Joe’s owner speaking, how can I help you?”

At that moment, you could hear a pin drop in the restaurant. Karen’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “But… but… but…” She turned to look at me, realizing the mistake she’d made. And that’s when I lost it. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I started laughing so hard I had to lean against the counter. Customers were snickering, waiters were grinning, and Karen… Karen looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

Just then, her food was finally ready. But Karen was so embarrassed she didn’t even take it. Instead, she grabbed her son’s arm and bolted for the door. The kid, still whining, stumbled behind her as she practically sprinted out of the restaurant. The moment the door shut behind her, the entire place erupted in laughter.

I turned to my dad, who was still shaking his head. “So you got remarried and didn’t tell me?” I joked. He grinned. “Guess I forgot to send you an invite.” We still laugh about it to this day.