The Bride Changed the Menu the Day Before the Wedding—Her Lawyer Fiancé Fired Us. Big Mistake. Karma Was Already Being Served.
I was running a catering company while my boss, Tom, was going through chemotherapy. It was a tough time, but I wanted to prove I could handle things. This wedding was my first big job in charge, and I was determined to make it perfect.
The deal was simple: 150 steak dinners at $50 each. Fancy food for a fancy wedding.
I had handled everything myself—client meetings, menu tasting, the contract. Tom couldn’t even look at food most days, so this was my chance to step up and keep the business going while he focused on getting better.
Everything was going smoothly until the day before the wedding, right at 1 p.m. I was in the kitchen, watching my team work hard prepping the steaks, when my phone rang.
It was Camille—the bride.
Just seeing her name gave me a weird feeling in my gut. I knew something bad was coming. I hit record on the call, like our business always did for client calls.
“Hello, Camille! How can I help you today?” I said, trying to sound cheerful.
Her voice was sharp. “Listen, we need to change the menu.”
I blinked. “Change the menu?”
“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Blake and I have been thinking. We want seafood now—like salmon or sea bass. Something classier.”
I looked around. Six of my staff were trimming steaks and prepping sides. The kitchen smelled amazing, and we were fully locked into steak mode.
“I’m sorry, Camille, but we’re already prepping everything. The contract says no changes within 30 days of the event. And we’ve already bought all the food.”
Her voice got louder. “Are you serious right now? This is MY wedding! We’re paying you almost $8,000!”
“I understand, and we’re doing our best to make your day special, but—”
“Do you even understand English? I said I want seafood!” she snapped. “What part of that is confusing you? Are you stupid or something?!”
I held the phone away for a second and took a deep breath.
“Camille,” I said calmly, “we really wish we could make this change, but you signed a contract that clearly says—”
“You think that piece of paper matters?” she interrupted. “My fiancé is a lawyer! We’ll sue you into the ground if you don’t give us what we want!”
Suddenly, I heard some noise on the other end. Then a man’s voice came through the phone.
“This is Blake. Who am I speaking to?” His voice was cold, like he wanted to scare me.
“This is Sarah, the catering manager. I was explaining to Camille—”
“Let me be clear,” Blake cut in. “This is my wedding, and I get what I want. I don’t care what your contract says.”
“Sir, I understand this is frustrating, but we already bought all the ingredients. The steaks are literally being cooked right now.”
“Then UN-COOK THEM!” he shouted. “We’re the clients. You do what we say.”
“I’m sorry, but the contract—”
“You’re fired! We don’t want you or your food anymore!”
I froze. A cold chill ran through me, followed by pure anger.
“Sir, I’d like to remind you that the contract has a cancellation clause. If you cancel within 24 hours, you still owe 90% of the total price.”
He laughed into the phone—an ugly, mocking laugh. “Good luck getting that money. We’ll find someone else and make you pay for the difference.”
Then—click. He hung up.
I looked around. The kitchen had gone quiet. Everyone was staring at me, waiting for instructions.
Miguel, my best line cook, finally asked, “So… do we stop prepping?”
I looked at the steaks, the sauces, the trays of sides… and I had a feeling. A gut instinct from years in food service.
“No,” I said. “Keep going. Finish everything.”
Leila frowned. “But… they just fired us.”
“I know,” I said. “Trust me on this.”
We worked until midnight. Everyone was exhausted but followed my lead, even though I could see the doubt on their faces. They thought I was crazy.
That night, I barely slept. What if I was wrong? What if they actually found another caterer? If this blew up, Tom would never forgive me.
At 7 a.m., my phone rang.
It was Blake.
“You better be at the venue today with our food,” he said, his voice tight with panic, “or we’ll sue you for breach of contract!”
I smiled. This was what I’d been waiting for.
“Sir,” I said calmly, “you ended our contract yesterday. As stated in clause 9, we keep 90% of the payment. If you want catering today, that’s a new contract at our same-day rate—three times the original price. Payment up front. Menu is based on what we have. And we can refuse service at any time.”
He went silent.
“That’s extortion!” he finally shouted.
“No, sir. That’s business. You can take it or leave it.”
More silence. I imagined him grinding his teeth.
“Fine,” he growled. “But I want seafood.”
“The menu stays steak,” I said. “That’s what we have. Take it or leave it.”
“This is insane! I’m a paying customer!”
“Yes, and if you keep yelling, I’ll refuse service entirely. So, steak at $22,000, or no food at all?”
A long, angry sigh.
“Fine,” he spat. “But it better be perfect.”
“It always is,” I said. “We’ll be there at noon. Please have the check ready. I’ll send the invoice now.”
At noon sharp, we arrived at the venue. The wedding planner looked ready to cry from relief. In the distance, I saw Camille in her wedding dress, pacing back and forth on her phone.
Before we unpacked anything, I walked straight up to Blake.
“Before we begin,” I said, handing him a clipboard, “I need you to sign this new contract and give me the payment.”
He took the paper, scowled at it, and muttered, “This is highway robbery.”
But he signed it.
I left the team to set up and drove to the nearest bank to deposit the check.
When I returned, I saw something that made my blood boil.
Jen, my assistant manager, pulled me aside. “Blake’s been threatening the staff,” she said. “He told Miguel that if anything went wrong, he’d have him deported.”
I blinked. “Miguel was born in San Diego.”
“I know,” she said. “Miguel told him that, and Blake just laughed and said, ‘We’ll see about that.’”
That was it.
I stormed over to Blake, who was standing with his groomsmen.
“If you threaten my staff again,” I said loudly, “we walk. Right now. Contract or no contract.”
“I didn’t threaten—”
“Save it. I don’t need your money bad enough to let you bully my team. Got it?”
He glared at me, but finally nodded.
After that, the wedding went smoothly. The steaks were perfect, the service flawless. Guests kept complimenting us, totally unaware of the disaster that almost happened.
Camille and Blake never looked at me once.
Three weeks later, I got a notice—Blake was suing us for “predatory pricing” and “breach of contract.”
I wasn’t surprised. I handed everything to our lawyer—signed contracts, phone recordings (which clients agreed to in our terms), and proof of payment.
The judge barely even looked at Blake’s case.
“The court doesn’t appreciate bullies,” the judge said, peering over his glasses. “Especially ones who should know better.”
He ruled in our favor immediately, and even made Blake pay all our legal fees.
Six months later, Tom returned to work part-time. When I told him the story, he laughed so hard tears came out of his eyes.
“You made more on that one wedding than I would have made on three!” he wheezed. “Maybe I should get sick more often!”
“Don’t you dare,” I said, shaking my head.
Just last week, I got curious and looked up Camille and Blake on Facebook.
Divorced. Not even three years after that big, expensive wedding.
Karma always knows when dinner’s ready.
