A rich young woman mocks the janitor at her father’s company and he decides to teach her a lesson she will never forget.
Danielle Grobber was used to having everything her own way. She was beautiful, intelligent, talented, and very, very rich. Or at least, Danielle’s father was very rich and she’d always thought of his money as hers.
So Danielle, or Danie, as her friends called her, was more than a little spoiled, but she always managed to charm her way out of trouble with her sweet talk and her dazzling smile. Then she crossed a line, and her father taught her a life lesson she would never forget.
Danielle was about to go off on a two-week dream vacation to the Caribean and had talked her father into taking her on a shopping spree. Not that Danie was in need of anything, she just loved shopping with her dad.
Unfortunately, he had to skip their lunch to attend to some urgent issues, and so she’d wandered around a bit before walking into a famous fast food restaurant and ordering herself a burger with all the trimmings, fries, a large soda, and an apple pie.
She took her order and walked back to her dad’s building which was surrounded by a well-tended lawn dotted with shady trees, comfortable benches, and murmuring fountains. She sat and ate her food while she texted her friends on her phone.
When she finished, she wiped her lips, crumpled the napkin, and carefully applied lipstick. Then she got up and started to walk away, leaving all the packaging and left-overs on the bench.
A voice stopped her in her tracks. “Excuse me, miss!” the voice said. “Please pick up your trash and put it in the bin.”
Treat everyone with respect if you want to be respected.
Danie turned around and stared at a thin elderly man in a janitor’s uniform who was sweeping the garden path. “Excuse me?” she asked. “Are you talking to ME?”
“Yes, young lady,” the man said. “This little park is for the people who work here to enjoy, and I don’t think it’s fair to leave rubbish behind.”
“I don’t clean up!” Danie said arrogantly. “People clean up for ME. People like you, the servant class — isn’t that your job? So do it — clean it up!”
The elderly man flushed. “Young lady,” he said. “My job is to keep this building and this garden spick and span but what you did is disrespectful…”
Danie interrupted him rudely. “You work for my father, which means you work for me! If I tell you to clean up, you clean up, if I tell you to lick my shoes, you lick my shoes or I’ll get you fired!”
It was at that moment that Danie heard a voice like thunder: “DANIELLE!” She turned around to find her father standing there looking furious. “Who do you think you are?” Jack Grobber asked her. “How dare you humiliate this man, who has worked for me for over 20 years. A hard-working man, with a family!”
“Daddy?” said Danie in her best little girl voice. “Please don’t be mad at me…I’m sooo sorry!” But under her sweet smile, Jack caught a flicker of mockery. Danie thought she was going to get away with this, just like she’d gotten away with everything in the past.
“Apologize to Mr. Terence, Danielle,” Jack ordered and watched as his daughter turned to the janitor with her most charming manner — but now he knew it was all an act.
“It’s my fault,” Jack thought. “I have to put this right!” But how do you undo a lifetime of indulgence and teach a young woman respect and responsibility?
Then Jack had a brilliant idea. “Mr. Terence, you look very tired!” he said. “I think you need a vacation!”
Mr. Terence smiled and shook his head. “My wife says the same, Mr. Grobber, but I’m saving up my vacation days for the end of the year so we can spend Christmas with the grandchildren!”
“That’s quite alright, Mr. Terence,” Jack said. “I’m giving you two weeks off and an all-expenses-paid trip to the Bahamas for you and your wife!”
Mr. Terence’s gaped. “Sir? The Bahamas…But who will fill in for me?”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Terence,” Jack said smiling. “My daughter Danielle will be more than happy to fill in for you, to make up for the unpleasant way she treated you.”
“WHAT?” screamed Danie, “Are you mad, daddy? I’m going on vacation…”
“Not anymore,” Jack said. “Mr. and Mrs. Terence are going in your place, and you will do his job while he is away.”
“YOU CAN’T DO THAT TO ME!” screamed Danielle. “I’m not a janitor! Cleaning toilets? Sweeping? Picking up other people’s trash? I won’t do it!”
“Yes you will,” her father said coldly. “Or I will cut off your allowance, take away that convertible…”
“It’s MY car!” cried Danie.
“No, Danielle,” Jack said quietly. “It’s MY car. I paid for it, I pay for the insurance and the gas. It’s all mine. Everything you have, I give you, so I think it’s time you learned how hard people have to work for every dollar.”
Danie knew her father very well, and by the look in his eyes, she realized she’d crossed some boundary. He would not be sweet-talked out of this crazy notion!
“You start on Monday,” Jack told her, then he turned to Mr. Terence. “And you’d better go home and pack, Mr. Terence! Bon Voyage!”
Monday morning Danie was there in her uniform, cleaning and sweeping, and emptying trash cans. By the end of the day she was exhausted, her beautiful nails were ruined, and her soft pampered hands were red and sore.
By the time Mr. Terence came back from the Bahamas with an amazing tan, Danie was quite an expert at the job and he was happy to report to Mr. Grobber that she’d left everything spick and span — no trash in the garden!
As for Danie, she never again disrespected anyone for doing a hard day’s work because she knew exactly what that felt like!
My Stepmom Gifted Me a Funerary Urn for My 17th Birthday
I always knew my stepmom, Monica, wasn’t exactly the nicest person—annoying, yes, but not evil. She was the type who would talk over me, forget my birthday, and call me “kiddo” even though I was practically an adult.
But what she did on my 17th birthday? It was the final straw.
It all started after my mom, Sarah, passed away when I was ten. After that, it was just me and Dad. We were a team—movie nights, pizza dinners, and a mutual understanding that we had each other’s backs, always.
Then Monica came along about three years ago. She wasn’t the worst, just kind of… there. She moved in, slowly took over the bathroom with her endless beauty products, and managed to inch her way into Dad’s life, whether I liked it or not.
Monica had dreams—big dreams—of opening a hair salon. I didn’t have a problem with people having dreams, but I had my own, too, and she treated me like I was an inconvenience that came with the house.
But I had a plan. College was my way out, and Dad had promised me from the time I was little that there was a college fund waiting for me. “Your mom and I set it up when you were five, Lila,” he’d say. “It’s all there, and I add to it every year.”
So, I worked hard in school, counting down the days until I could leave for college and start a life of my own.
On the morning of my 17th birthday, I wasn’t expecting much. Maybe some pancakes, a card—Dad was at work, so it was just Monica and me. But when Monica handed me a gift bag, things took a weird turn.
Inside the bag was a pink funerary urn. Yes, you read that right. An urn.
I stared at it, completely confused. “What the hell is this?” I asked.
Monica leaned against the kitchen counter, a smug look on her face. “It’s symbolic,” she said as if that explained anything.
“Symbolic of what?” I asked, already feeling a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Monica smiled wider. “It’s time to bury your college dreams, kiddo. Your dad and I decided to put that fund to better use.”
“Better use?” I repeated, my heart racing.
“Yep. We used it to help me open my salon. College is a gamble, Lila. But a business? That’s a real investment.”
I was frozen. Had they really taken my future, my college fund, and sunk it into Monica’s dream? How could my dad have let this happen?
“Life’s full of disappointments,” she added, as if that was supposed to be comforting.
I ran upstairs and slammed my door, sobbing harder than I ever had. Everything I’d worked for, everything my mom had wanted for me, was gone.
For the next few days, I barely spoke to either of them. Monica pranced around like she owned the house while I sat with the urn on my desk, a twisted reminder of what I had lost.
Then, a few days later, something strange happened.
When I got home from school, there was a note on my desk in Monica’s messy handwriting: Meet me at the salon at 6 P.M. tonight. No questions. Just trust me.
I almost laughed. Trust her? After what she did?
But my curiosity got the better of me, and against my better judgment, I went.
When I arrived at the salon, the lights were off, but the door was unlocked. Hesitant, I stepped inside. There, in the middle of the room, were Monica and my dad, both grinning.
“Surprise!” Monica shouted.
I was speechless.
“Look,” Monica said, stepping aside to reveal a shiny new sign on the wall: Dream Cuts: A Scholarship Fund in Honor of Sarah.
“What is this?” I asked, completely lost.
Monica’s smile softened. “We didn’t use your college fund, Lila. It’s all still there. The salon isn’t just for me—it’s for you, too. And for others like you. A portion of the profits will go toward funding scholarships in your mom’s name.”
I blinked, feeling like the ground was shifting beneath my feet.
“But… why make me think otherwise?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around it.
Monica winced. “Yeah, the urn thing… That was not my best idea. I thought it would be motivational, like burying the past and embracing the future. Turns out, it was just creepy.”
Dad stepped forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve been planning this for months. Your mom always wanted to help kids get to college. This way, her dream lives on.”
I stood there, stunned, my anger melting into something softer.
Monica looked at me earnestly. “I’m not trying to replace your mom, Lila. I just want to build something meaningful, something that helps you and others. I know I haven’t been the best stepmom, but I hope this can be a fresh start.”
For the first time in a long time, I smiled.
It wasn’t perfect, and maybe things with Monica never would be. But in that moment, standing in a salon named for my mom, I realized she wasn’t trying to destroy my future—she was trying to honor it in a way I hadn’t expected.
And yeah, I kept the urn. I planted peace lilies in it. Maybe it wasn’t the symbol Monica had intended, but it had become something new. A symbol of hope.
What would you have done in my shoes?
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