A Rich Customer Mocked Me, Calling Me a ‘Poor Cashier’ – But Karma Came for Her Moments Later

The air around us went still. I heard a quiet shuffle behind her in line — a mother with a little boy, a man holding a six-pack of beer, and a teenager with headphones now slowly sliding them off.

I said nothing.

There didn’t seem to be space for words. I turned back to the register and began scanning her groceries — honey, Darjeeling tea, two jars of some fancy jam I couldn’t pronounce, and a sleek bottle of champagne that caught the overhead lights like it was showing off.

My hands trembled slightly — they always do when the arthritis flares up or when I’ve been standing too long.

I adjusted my grip on the bottle, held it gently by the neck, and tried not to wince. She noticed, of course.

“Oh my goodness,” she snapped. “Could you be a little more careful with my groceries?

Do they just hire anyone these days? Honestly, it’s time to retire, Grandma. If your hands can’t stop shaking, what are you even doing here?”

I felt heat rush to my cheeks.

My throat tightened. There was a flicker of something in her voice — it wasn’t just impatience. It was delight.

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