The Karen Who Claimed to Be the Owner’s Wife

I’m an 18-year-old guy, and my parents own a little restaurant where we sell snacks, cakes, candies, and various fast foods. It was named after my grandparents, so let’s just call it Joe’s.

Whenever I get free time, I usually hang out there with my friends to grab something to eat. I always pay — which encourages my friends to pay up, too — and I earn that money by working at Joe’s, especially on weekends when it gets busy. I take orders, serve customers, do whatever needs to be done. My dad lets me keep any tip money, and he also pays me for my hours.

A few regulars know I’m the owner’s son, but most people just think my parents are employees — they work the floor themselves, so it’s an easy mistake.

One busy weekend, a woman — maybe in her late 30s or early 40s — came in with her kid, a bratty boy around thirteen.

Since the restaurant was crowded, she was asked to wait. About twenty minutes later, a table opened up. She sat down, and I went over to take her order. I don’t remember exactly what she ordered, maybe a sandwich, but after I gave it to the kitchen, I noticed her kid running around screaming.

He was bumping into customers, stepping on people’s feet, even touching their food. His mother didn’t care — she was glued to her phone.

Finally, I’d had enough. I grabbed the kid’s hand, stopped him, and told him sharply, “Don’t run around in here.”

He immediately burst into tears and ran to his mother.

A moment later, she came storming up to me, heels clacking, face red with fury.

“How dare you touch my child!” she shouted.

“He was running around and annoying other people,” I said. “I just stopped him.”

“He’s a child,” she snapped. “He can do whatever he wants!”

“Well, yeah,” I said, “but not under my supervision.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you even know who I am?”

Here we go again, I thought. I’d dealt with people like this before, so I decided to play along.

“No, ma’am, I don’t.”

“Well, then you should know,” she said smugly. “I am the wife of the owner, and you’ve just made a huge mistake. I’ll make sure your face is never seen here again, because you’re getting fired.”

I almost laughed. I’d been expecting her to claim she was my dad’s sister or friend, but wife? That was a new one.

“Ma’am,” I said carefully, “I don’t think you even know his—”

She cut me off. “His name is [insert my dad’s name here]!”

That actually shocked me — very few people knew my dad’s full name.

I decided to keep playing.

“Ma’am, I’m very sorry I was rude to your son. Please don’t get me fired; it’s the only job I have.”

“Oh, you should have thought about that before you touched my son!” she said.

“But, ma’am, he was—”

“Shut up!” she barked, and stomped over to the counter.

She demanded to see the manager. My dad came out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Your employee has been harassing my son,” she said. “I want him fired now!”

My dad glanced at me, then turned back to her. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” he said politely, “but I can’t fire anyone without a valid reason.”

“Do you even know who you’re talking to?” she snapped. “I’m the wife of the owner of Joe’s! And I can’t stand this employee!”

My dad’s lips twitched into the biggest grin I’ve ever seen.

“Why are you laughing? I’m serious!”

He straightened. “Ma’am, I’m sorry for the inconvenience again. Would you like a refund?”

That only made her angrier. “You know what? I’m calling my husband right now! We’ll see how you like that!”

She marched outside, pulled out her phone, and dialed the number printed on the restaurant’s delivery board — my dad’s number.

Inside, his phone rang.

He picked it up. “Hello,” he said, “this is the owner of Joe’s. How can I help you?”

The woman froze. The color drained from her face like someone had pulled the plug.

“Yes,” he continued, smiling, “I’m the owner and the manager of Joe’s. And for the record, ma’am, you are not my wife. The employee you want fired is my son.”

She turned toward me, completely mortified. I couldn’t hold it in anymore — I burst out laughing.

Right then, her order came up, but she was already too embarrassed to stay.

Dragging her still-sniffling kid by the arm, she hurried out of the restaurant without another word, leaving her untouched food behind.

We still laugh about that story to this day — the woman who came into Joe’s, claimed to be the owner’s wife, and got exposed by a phone call she made herself.