They told my wife, You Are Not Pretty Enough to Work Here, I had to do something about it
My wife, Emma, recently decided to explore the idea of working in retail, thinking it would be the perfect fit for her interests. She was excited about the prospect and eager to find a position that suited her.
One afternoon, while at the shopping center, she noticed a famous lingerie store was hiring, as advertised on a poster outside the shop. Thrilled at the opportunity, Emma walked inside and approached the sales assistant to inquire about the job.
However, the assistant barely acknowledged her until Emma was standing right in front of her. With a dismissive sneer, the assistant looked her up and down before delivering a cruel and shocking blow: “Look, I don’t think you’re pretty enough for this job. No chance. Don’t even bother.”
Emma came home heartbroken, devastated by the harsh rejection. Seeing her like that shattered me. But after the sadness passed, I was consumed by anger. How dare someone treat my wife this way? I knew I had to do something—no one, absolutely no one, could get away with humiliating Emma like that.
Planning the Perfect Revenge
A few days later, I returned to the lingerie store, making sure the same sales assistant, whose name I now knew was Sophia, was working. This time, I was prepared. I dressed sharply, projecting confidence and success. As I stepped inside, Sophia greeted me with a completely different attitude—her fake smile plastered on her face.
“Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you today?” she chirped, her tone dripping with politeness.
I flashed a charming smile and told her I was looking for a special gift for my wife. Eager to make a sale, Sophia started showing me various items, her demeanor the polar opposite of the cruelty she’d shown Emma. I listened to her sales pitch, asking questions about quality, materials, and best-sellers, all while keeping my anger in check.
After about half an hour, I decided it was time for the reveal. “You know,” I said casually, “my wife came here the other day. She wanted to apply for a job.”
Sophia’s face flickered with recognition, but she quickly tried to cover it up. “Oh, really? That’s great,” she said, forcing her smile to remain intact.
“Yes,” I continued, “but she was very upset when she came home. Apparently, someone told her she wasn’t ‘pretty enough’ to work here.”
I watched as the color drained from Sophia’s face. She stammered, “Oh, um, I’m not sure who said that… we have very high standards, you see.”
“High standards?” I raised an eyebrow. “Or just shallow ones?”
Sophia was visibly uncomfortable now, her eyes darting around as if looking for an escape. But I wasn’t done. “My wife is beautiful, inside and out, and she didn’t deserve to be treated so horribly. I want to speak to your manager.”
Sweet Justice
The manager, a well-dressed woman named Lisa, arrived promptly, her expression serious as I repeated the entire story—emphasizing the insult and how deeply it had affected Emma. Lisa was appalled. “I’m so sorry to hear this,” she said sincerely. “We do not tolerate such behavior in our store. Sophia, please step into my office.”
Sophia’s face turned bright red as she followed Lisa into the back office. I waited calmly, knowing justice was being served. After a few minutes, Lisa returned and apologized profusely, extending an invitation for Emma to reapply. “We’ll ensure she gets a fair and respectful interview,” Lisa promised.
The Aftermath
When I got home, I told Emma everything. At first, she was hesitant, still wounded by the earlier experience, but I encouraged her to give it another chance. After a bit of persuasion, she agreed.
A week later, Emma returned to the store for her interview. This time, she was welcomed warmly by Lisa and the staff. Sophia was nowhere to be seen. Emma got the job, and I made sure to visit her often, always with a proud smile.
She thrived in her new role, her confidence growing with each passing day. As for Sophia, she was transferred to a different branch, far from where we lived. Justice had been served, and Emma and I often laugh about the incident now, grateful for the strength and lessons it brought.
No one would ever make her feel unworthy again—and I’d always be there to make sure of that.