Marissa stepped inside the wedding dress salon, her heart pounding with excitement and just a little bit of nervousness. This was a huge moment for her — the first time she was actually shopping for her own wedding dress. The first time she was going to walk into a bridal salon and pick out the dress of her dreams.
But Marissa also knew that this wouldn’t be easy. She was 55 years old and proudly Hispanic. She didn’t look like the typical young, slim bride who usually walked through these doors. And she knew what people thought about women like her.
Still, she wasn’t going to let anyone’s judgment ruin this day for her. She had worked too hard and come too far to be stopped now.
The salon was beautiful — sparkling marble floors, shining chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and rows upon rows of stunning wedding gowns in every style you could imagine. It looked like a palace, just like she had seen in pictures online. Marissa’s eyes lit up as she imagined herself trying on those elegant dresses.
But then, something changed.
Two saleswomen, young and perfectly polished in black uniforms, gave Marissa a cold look. She could feel their eyes scanning her like she didn’t belong.
One tall blonde with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes came up to her, her tone dripping with fake politeness.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes,” Marissa replied. “I want to try on some dresses. I’m thinking lace would be beautiful, but I’m open to anything that would look good on me.”
The blonde raised her eyebrows like Marissa had just asked for something impossible.
“Well,” the blonde said slowly, “these dresses are very delicate.” She emphasized the word “delicate” like Marissa was some kind of danger to the gowns. “You should be careful… try not to touch them with your… hands.”
Marissa blinked, stunned. Her hands? She looked down at her hands — strong, worn hands that told the story of a hard-working woman.
“My hands are clean,” she said quietly but firmly.
The blonde smirked, as if amused.
“I just meant,” she said, “these dresses are very expensive. You might want to look at something more affordable. We do have some cheaper dresses, but it’s a small selection. You might find something there.”
Before Marissa could answer, another saleswoman appeared — a brunette with a ponytail so tight it looked like it might cut off her breath.
“Yeah, we have some clearance dresses in the back,” she said with a smirk. “They’re last season’s styles, but probably more in your price range.”
Marissa clenched her jaw but forced a smile.
“I’d like to try this one,” she said, pointing at a lace gown on a mannequin.
The blonde’s eyes went wide, and her smirk turned into a laugh.
“Are you sure? That dress is over $10,000. Might be out of budget for someone like you,” she said with clear condescension.
The insult hit Marissa like a punch, but she held her smile.
They thought they knew everything about her. To them, she was just an older Hispanic woman who didn’t fit in — maybe even a maid, judging by the way they looked at her hands.
But they were in for a surprise.
Just then, the salon manager, John, came out from the back. He was dressed sharply in a black suit, and his eyes flicked between Marissa and the two saleswomen. Something told him something was wrong.
“Girls, what’s going on here?” he asked, his voice sharp and serious.
Before Marissa could speak, the blonde spoke up, trying to sound clever.
“Oh, nothing, John. Just making sure the expensive dresses stay safe. You always tell us to watch how the gowns are handled.”
John’s face darkened.
“This lady?” he said slowly. “You mean Ms. Morales? Soon-to-be Mrs. Shepherd? The new owner of this salon?”
The two saleswomen froze, shock spreading across their faces.
“Wait, what?” the blonde stammered. “I thought the owner was an old Mr. Thomas?”
“Mr. Shepherd, Ashley!” John snapped. “He’s Ms. Morales’ fiancé. She has taken over the store. You’d know this if you weren’t so busy judging customers!”
The room went silent. The saleswomen looked like they were about to disappear into the floor. They had no idea who they’d been rude to, and now their jobs felt very shaky.
“I’m tempted to fire you both right now!” John barked. “But even if Ms. Morales weren’t the owner, do you treat customers like this?”
Marissa shook her head and smiled at John.
“No, John. Don’t fire them yet,” she said.
“Are you sure, ma’am?” John asked, surprised.
“I’m sure,” she said, turning to the saleswomen. Their arrogance was gone, replaced by fear.
“Instead of firing you, Ashley,” Marissa said, pointing to the blonde, “you’re going to be my personal assistant for the next month. Thomas and I have a lot to do before the wedding.”
Ashley’s mouth dropped open.
“P-personal assistant?” she whispered.
“Yes, Ashley,” Marissa said firmly. “You’re going to learn what this business really means. You will treat every customer with respect, no matter what they look like or where they come from. This job isn’t just about selling expensive dresses. It’s about making every bride feel beautiful. Helping women’s dreams come true.”
The room was silent as her words sank in. John nodded quietly, not daring to argue.
“And you,” Marissa said, turning to the brunette. “What’s your name?”
“Matilda,” the girl replied nervously.
“Matilda, you will also learn the business. You will study every type of dress, every material, every style, every veil in this store. You’ll learn what it takes to help a bride shine.”
Marissa looked at both of them.
“Do I make myself clear?” she asked.
They both nodded quickly.
“So… what now?” Ashley asked, still nervous.
“Now, Ashley,” Marissa said with a sly smile, “you go get me some champagne. And you’ll ask me what kind of dress I want.”
Ashley hurried away, and Matilda ran to the lace section, pulling the gown Marissa had pointed to earlier off the rack.
“What do you think, Matilda? Will this suit me?” Marissa asked.
Matilda looked at her honestly.
“I think you’ll look beautiful in anything, ma’am. But a sweetheart neckline will highlight your shoulders nicely.”
“Much better,” Marissa said, smiling warmly. “Thank you, Matilda.”
She knew it was going to be a challenge working with these two, but they deserved to learn how to really help brides. And Marissa? She had a wedding dress to find.
What would you have done if you were Marissa? Would you let those saleswomen get away with it? Or would you teach them a lesson, just like she did?
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