Jessie took a deep breath as she tied her apron around her waist. It was her first day as a waitress at a busy local restaurant, and she was determined to make a good impression. The lunch rush was just starting when her coworker, Mark, approached her with a smirk.
“Alright, Jessie. Since you’re the new girl, you get table 13,” he said, nodding toward a lone customer sitting near the window.
Jessie glanced over. An older man sat hunched over his menu, his eyes scanning the options like he was preparing for battle.
“It’s just an old man,” Jessie said, puzzled. “What’s so bad about him?”
Mark chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, honey. That’s Mr. Norton. He’s terrible. Nobody wants to serve him.”
Jessie lifted her chin confidently. “I can handle anything.”
Mark just sighed and patted her shoulder. “Good luck.”
Jessie approached the table with her best smile. “Good afternoon, sir. My name’s Jessie. What can I get you to drink today?”
The old man barely looked up. “I always have the same thing, and you lot ask me that every time. Ice tea. Not too cold, not too sweet. Two lemon wedges. And a straw.”
“Got it,” Jessie replied, still cheerful. “And do you know what you’d like for lunch?”
“Not yet. Go away and bring my iced tea.”
Jessie’s eyebrows shot up, but she bit her tongue and walked back to the counter. Mark gave her a knowing look as she placed the order.
“Told you,” he teased.
Jessie ignored him and focused on making the perfect iced tea. She delivered it with a polite smile, but Mr. Norton took one sip and scowled.
“Too sweet!” he snapped.
Jessie sighed. She made a new one. Then another. Then another. The first was too sweet. The second was too cold. The third had lemon wedges without enough juice. By the fourth attempt, she was losing patience.
“We only have paper straws now, sir,” she said when he complained about it.
“Stupid, softy generation!” he grumbled. “Fine. I want the lasagna.”
He threw the menu at her chest. Jessie inhaled sharply but kept her composure. She wasn’t going to let one grumpy old man ruin her first day.
The lasagna, of course, wasn’t right. Too hot. Too much cheese. The sauce was “off.” Jessie barely had time to breathe between his complaints and serving other customers. By the time Mr. Norton finally left, she had already served six different families.
At least he left a tip.
That night, exhausted, Jessie slumped into bed, whispering a promise to herself to do better the next day. But as the days passed, she realized that waiting tables was tougher than when she was younger. And dealing with Mr. Norton? That was a challenge all on its own.
For years, she served the old, grumpy Mr. Norton. No one else wanted to deal with him, so he became her responsibility. Over time, she developed a way of handling him that impressed the rest of the staff. She was patient. She even learned little things about his life.
Most of the time, he was like a child throwing tantrums. But every once in a while, he was almost pleasant. He would ask about her kids, and sometimes, he even gave advice—gruff, unsolicited, and sometimes a little rude, but advice nonetheless. And no matter how much he complained, he always left a solid 15% tip.
Then, one day, something strange happened.
When Jessie went to clean up his table, there was no money. No tip at all. Instead, there was a key and a folded note. She picked them up, frowning, and opened the letter. Her eyes widened as she read:
“Dear Jessie,
Thank you for putting up with this old grump for so long. I’m going to a special hospice now, so I won’t be back. This is the key to my house. It’s yours. I’ve left my lawyer’s card so you can arrange everything officially.
Goodbye, dear.
P.S. My tea was too sweet today, but I didn’t complain. See? My time is coming.”
Jessie gasped. She couldn’t believe what she was reading. Mr. Norton had given her his house? That made no sense. He was just a customer! Surely, he had a family. Why would he leave everything to her?
She called the lawyer immediately and arranged a visit to the hospice. When she saw Mr. Norton, she barely recognized him. He looked frail, thinner than ever. For the first time, he didn’t scowl at her.
“It’s real,” he said before she could ask. “The house is yours.”
“But why? What about your children?” Jessie asked, confused.
The old man sighed. “My children hate me. Haven’t seen or heard from them in years. I was grumpy to everyone, my whole life. The only person who ever put up with me—with a smile, no less—was you. So keep the house. Fill it with your family. It’s meant for someone patient enough to care for old things.”
Jessie’s eyes filled with tears. She hadn’t even realized how much she had grown used to seeing him every day. And now, knowing he was alone, knowing he was dying—it was too much.
That weekend, she brought her children to meet him. For the first time in years, Mr. Norton smiled. A real, warm smile. That moment meant more to Jessie than all the tips he had ever left her.
A few weeks later, Mr. Norton passed away. His lawyer confirmed that his family wanted nothing to do with his estate. His house—his entire legacy—now belonged to Jessie.
It wasn’t a mansion, but it was a beautiful home. A home big enough for her family to finally have space. Her children were ecstatic—they each had their own rooms for the first time. Jessie and her husband also received promotions at work, making life a little easier financially.
In honor of Mr. Norton, Jessie and her family started volunteering at the local senior center. She paid special attention to the elderly with the worst attitudes, because she had learned something important—grumpy old people usually have a reason.
She would never forget the man who changed her life. And every time she made tea, she always made sure it wasn’t too sweet.