The Day Before the Wedding, They Fired the Caterer… But Karma Had Other Plans
The day before a fancy wedding, the bride called and demanded a totally new menu. When I told her it was too late, she exploded. Her lawyer fiancé got on the phone and fired us on the spot. But what they didn’t know? Karma was already getting served, and I had just the right recipe for it.
Back then, I was managing a catering company for my boss, Tom. He was going through chemotherapy and couldn’t be at work. I was the one keeping everything running. This wedding was my first big solo event. I had to prove I could handle it — not just to Tom, but to myself.
It was a 150-guest wedding. We were serving steaks, $50 a plate. Pretty standard menu, but high-end. I had done everything: the client meetings, the menu tasting, the contract — all of it.
Tom was too sick to even look at food most days, so this was my chance to show him I could keep his business alive while he fought for his life.
No pressure, right?
Everything was going smoothly until 1 p.m. the day before the wedding. I was in the kitchen, managing six staff members who were already trimming steaks, when my phone buzzed.
The name on the screen made my stomach twist: Camille — the bride.
That name alone made my instincts scream “brace yourself.” As per our business policy, I immediately hit “record” on the call.
“Hi Camille, how can I help you today?” I said, trying to keep things light and polite.
She didn’t waste time. “Listen, we need to change the menu,” she said sharply. “Blake and I have been thinking, and we want seafood instead of steak. Like, salmon or sea bass. Something elegant.”
I blinked. My eyes swept across the kitchen, where the team was deep into steak prep.
“I’m really sorry, Camille,” I said calmly, “but we’re actually prepping the steaks right now. The contract you signed doesn’t allow menu changes within a month of the event. Plus, we’ve already purchased all the ingredients.”
Her tone turned sharp. “Are you serious right now? It’s my wedding! We’re paying you almost eight thousand dollars!”
“I understand, and we want your day to be amazing, but—”
“Do you even understand English?” she snapped. “I said I want to change the menu. What part of that is confusing? Are you illiterate?”
I pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose. Deep breath. Stay calm.
“Camille, I truly wish we could help, but the contract clearly says—”
She cut me off, yelling, “My fiancé is a lawyer! We’ll sue you into the ground if you don’t give us what we want!”
Then I heard the phone change hands, and suddenly there was a booming, arrogant male voice.
“This is Blake,” he said coldly. “Who am I speaking with?”
“This is Sarah, the catering manager. I was just explaining—”
“Let me make this clear. This is my wedding, and we get what we want. I don’t care what your contract says.”
His voice had that tone — the kind where someone’s so used to winning arguments, they think they can just steamroll you.
“Sir, we’ve already purchased and begun preparing the food based on your selections. The steaks are already being trimmed.”
“Then un-trim them!” he barked. “What part of that is difficult? We’re the clients!”
“Sir, the contract specifically states—”
“You know what? You’re fired! We don’t want your services anymore.”
My heart dropped. Fired? Less than 24 hours before the event?
“Sir,” I replied firmly, “I should remind you of the cancellation clause in the contract. With less than 24 hours’ notice, you’re still responsible for 90 percent of the total cost.”
He laughed — a cruel, arrogant laugh. “Good luck enforcing that. We’ll hire someone else and make you pay for the difference.”
“Sir, at this point—” Click. The call ended.
The kitchen went dead silent. Every one of my six staff members had stopped working and were looking at me.
Miguel, my best line cook, broke the silence. “So… do we stop prepping?”
I stared at the steaks, the sauces simmering on the stove, the carefully prepped sides.
Then I trusted my gut.
“No,” I said firmly. “Keep going. Finish everything.”
Leila frowned. “But they fired us…”
“I know,” I said. “Trust me on this.”
We worked until midnight. No shortcuts. Every dish, every sauce, every garnish — perfect. I sent the team home with orders to be ready the next morning, just in case.
A few of them looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
That night, I barely slept. What if I was wrong? What if they really did get a new caterer? What if I’d wasted all that time and money?
Then at 7 a.m., my phone rang.
It was Blake.
I answered, trying to sound calm. “Hello?”
“You better be at the venue with the food,” he snapped. “Or we’ll sue you for breach of contract!”
I sat up, wide awake now.
“Sir,” I said sweetly, “you fired us yesterday. As per Clause 9, we retain 90 percent of the payment. If you want catering today, you’ll need to sign a new contract at our same-day rate — which is three times the original. Payment upfront. Menu based on what we have available. And we reserve the right to refuse service.”
Dead silence.
“That’s extortion,” Blake growled.
“No sir,” I said calmly. “That’s business. Take it or leave it.”
I waited.
“Fine,” he hissed. “But we want the menu changed to seafood.”
“The menu is based on what we have prepped. That means steak. Take it or leave it.”
“This is ridiculous! I’m a paying customer!”
“Yes. And we reserve the right to refuse service if you keep being verbally abusive. So, what’s it going to be? Steak at $22,000, or nothing?”
He gritted his teeth. “Fine. Steak. But it better be perfect.”
“It always is,” I replied. “We’ll be there at noon. Have the check ready. I’ll send the invoice shortly.”
We rolled up to the venue right on time. The wedding planner looked relieved to see us. In the distance, I saw Camille in her wedding dress, pacing with her phone glued to her ear.
Before unloading a single tray, I walked straight up to Blake.
He was wearing a tuxedo that probably cost more than my car. His jaw was tight. I handed him the new contract.
“Before we unload anything, I need this signed and the check in hand.”
He scowled. “This is highway robbery.”
But he signed it anyway.
I left the team to set up and went to deposit the check. When I got back, I found Jen — my assistant manager — looking furious.
“That lawyer guy’s been harassing the team,” she whispered. “He told Miguel that if anything goes wrong, he’d get him deported.”
“What?” I felt heat rise up my neck.
“Miguel told him he was born in San Diego. Blake just laughed and said, ‘We’ll see about that.’”
I stormed over to Blake, who was laughing with a group of groomsmen.
I didn’t care who heard me.
“Threaten my staff again, and we walk. Right now. Contract or not.”
He blinked. “I didn’t threaten—”
“Save it,” I snapped. “I don’t need your money that badly. Are we clear?”
He glared at me. But he nodded.
From there, the wedding actually went smoothly. The steaks were juicy and perfect. Service was flawless. Guests were complimenting us all night, saying things like, “This is the best wedding food I’ve ever had!”
Camille and Blake didn’t say a single word to us.
Three weeks later, I got notice. Blake was suing us — claiming “predatory pricing” and “breach of contract.”
I laughed out loud.
I handed everything to our lawyer — the contracts, the check, and the recorded phone calls (we let clients know we record calls in our terms of service).
The judge didn’t even need a full day.
She ruled in our favor immediately, and even made Blake pay our legal fees.
She looked him dead in the eye and said, “The court doesn’t appreciate bullies — especially ones who should know better.”
Six months later, Tom was back at work part-time. When I told him the full story, he laughed so hard tears came to his eyes.
“You made more on that wedding than I would’ve on three!” he said. “Maybe I should get sick more often.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” I told him.
And just last week, curiosity got the best of me. I looked up Camille and Blake on Facebook.
Divorced.
Not even three years after that massive wedding.
Guess some things really do get served cold.
Like karma.
