I witnessed karma unfold in real time, and it was nothing short of poetic justice.

I work as a waitress at a mid-tier restaurant downtown. The place isn’t fancy, but it stays busy with locals, tourists, and business professionals grabbing a quick lunch. It pays the bills, and I enjoy the job—except for one major drawback: my manager, Simon. He’s the kind of boss who makes you question your career choices daily. Rude, lazy, and condescending, he treats both employees and customers like they’re beneath him. I put up with it because jobs aren’t easy to come by, but one particular day, I nearly walked out.

It all started when an Asian tourist walked in, suitcase in hand, clearly exhausted from a long trip. He was well-dressed—casual but polished—carrying himself with quiet confidence. He smiled and politely asked for a table for one.

Simon barely glanced at him before rolling his eyes. “Yeah, sure, right this way, buddy.”

I was wiping down a nearby table when I noticed where Simon was leading him—straight to the worst seat in the house, right next to the restrooms. The smell of disinfectant and old plumbing lingered in the air. We only used that table when the restaurant was packed, but that day, we were barely half full. There were plenty of better seats available.

“Uh, Simon, there’s space near the windows—” I started to suggest, but he cut me off with a glare.

“It’s fine.”

The man hesitated for a second but didn’t argue. He took the seat and placed a simple order—nothing extravagant. I felt awful for him, but before I could do anything, Simon did something that made my stomach turn.

Instead of sending the order to the kitchen, he disappeared into the back, rummaged through the dirty dish cart, and came back with a half-eaten plate of food. Someone else’s leftovers.

I felt my throat tighten. “Simon, you can’t do that.”

“Watch me,” he said, smirking like it was some kind of joke. “What, you think he’ll notice? He’s probably used to eating garbage back home.”

I gasped. “That’s disgusting! He’s a paying customer!”

Simon laughed, completely unfazed, and placed the plate in front of the man with an exaggerated flourish. “Here ya go, pal! Fresh off the grill.”

The smell alone was enough to make me gag. I saw the man’s face tighten as he looked down at the plate—cold, greasy, bits of someone else’s meal still clinging to it. Then he lifted his head, his calm demeanor shifting ever so slightly.

“I didn’t order this,” he said, his voice polite but firm.

Simon threw up his hands. “That’s what you ordered, Jackie Chan.”

A hush fell over the restaurant. My hands balled into fists. Simon smirked, waiting for the man to get upset, to cause a scene that he could mock. But that’s not what happened.

Instead, the man slowly stood up. He dusted off his sleeves, then—with a level of composure I could never muster—he said in perfect, unaccented English:

“You probably don’t recognize me. I actually own this restaurant chain.”

Silence. Absolute, deafening silence.

Simon’s smug expression crumbled into one of pure panic. “W-what?” he stammered.

The man reached into his pocket, pulled out a sleek business card, and placed it on the table. I recognized the name instantly—it was the same one from our employee handbook. I had skimmed over it a dozen times while pretending to read company policies. He wasn’t just some random tourist. He was the CEO of the entire franchise.

Simon let out a strangled sound, like a fish gasping for air.

The CEO—because that’s exactly who he was—adjusted his cufflinks and turned to me. “Miss, may I have a fresh meal, please? One that hasn’t been in someone else’s mouth?”

I nodded so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. “Of course, sir. Right away.”

As I rushed to the kitchen, Simon started backpedaling. “Hey, man, it was just a joke! You know, just having a little fun—”

“Was it fun?” The CEO’s voice was smooth, but the weight of his words was crushing. “Was it fun to mock a paying customer? To serve food that could make someone sick? To insult someone based on their ethnicity?”

Simon had no response.

The CEO sighed, shaking his head. “I’ve been visiting several locations undercover. I like to see how things operate when the staff doesn’t know who I am. And I have to say, this has been an eye-opening experience.”

Simon’s mouth opened and closed as if searching for an argument, but nothing came out.

“I want your apron and keys,” the CEO said simply. “Now.”

Simon paled. “Wait, sir—”

“You’re fired.”

And just like that, it was over.

The rest of my shift was a blur. Simon stormed out, his face twisted with rage and embarrassment, while the CEO enjoyed a fresh meal—one I made sure was perfect. When he finished, he left a generous tip and a message on the receipt that read:

“Thank you for your kindness. It doesn’t go unnoticed.”

The next day, we had a new manager. One who treated people with respect.

Karma? Oh, it’s real. And sometimes, it doesn’t wait.