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!
Grandkids Fought over Who Would Inherit Grandma’s Bigger House – But Grandma and Karma Had the Last Laugh
Margaret was 83, fiercely independent, and tired of her family circling her like vultures. When she vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a cryptic note, her children were frantic. They never imagined her bold final move would leave them stunned.
My name’s Dorothy, and I’m 80 years old. I never thought I’d have a story about my best friend, but here I am. Margaret, who I’ve known for decades, deserves to have her story told.
A smiling woman | Source: Pexels
She was the sharpest, sassiest 83-year-old I’ve ever met. She called me her “partner in crime,” though most of our crimes were eating too many donuts or gossiping over coffee.
Margaret had a modest life but a smart one. She lived in a cozy little bungalow, the kind with flower boxes under the windows. She also owned a big, beautiful colonial-style house across town. That house was her husband Tom’s pride and joy.
A colonial house | Source: Pexels
When he passed 20 years ago, Margaret started renting it out. “Tom would’ve hated it,” she’d say, “but a lady’s got to live.” The rent covered her bills, and Margaret never relied on anyone, not even her kids.
“Dorothy, let me tell you something,” she’d say, wagging a finger. “Independence is a woman’s best friend. Next to coffee, of course.”
A woman with a coffee cup on her patio | Source: Pexels
But last year, everything started to change. Margaret’s health took a downturn. She got weaker, and for the first time, she needed a little help. I started running errands for her, and her kids, Lisa and David, began showing up more often.
At first, it seemed like they cared. Then I noticed they weren’t helping. They were circling.
A brother and sister | Source: Midjourney
Lisa was always dressed like she was going to a fancy brunch. Perfect nails, designer purse, big sunglasses perched on her head. “It’s such a shame that big house is just sitting empty. A family like mine could really put it to use,” she’d say.
David was practical, but not in a good way. He’d show up with his laptop and act like Margaret’s financial advisor, even though she never asked him to.
A man with a laptop | Source: Pexels
“Mom, you’re sitting on a gold mine with that house. You know, selling it could set you up for life—or help the kids. Just something to think about.”
Margaret hated it. “I’ll decide what to do with my houses when I’m good and ready,” she’d tell them. “And don’t you dare think I’m leaving this Earth anytime soon.”
An angry elderly woman | Source: Pexels
The grandkids weren’t any better. Lisa’s oldest, Jessica, was the queen of fake sweetness. She’d bring over baked goods with little notes like, “Grandma, don’t you think a growing family deserves a beautiful home?” David’s son, Kyle, was blunt. “Grandma, it’d be a shame if the big house got sold instead of staying in the family.”
One afternoon, Margaret had enough. We were sitting in her kitchen drinking tea when we heard Lisa and David arguing in the living room.
A man arguing with his sister | Source: Midjourney
“You’ve got three kids,” Lisa said, her voice rising. “You don’t need more space.”
“Oh, please,” David shot back. “Your kids are practically grown. I’ve got college to think about, and that house could help.”
Margaret rolled her eyes and shuffled to the door. “Enough!” she snapped, stepping into the room. “You’d think I was already six feet under with the way you’re fighting over my stuff.”
An angry elderly woman | Source: Freepik
Lisa opened her mouth, but Margaret raised a hand. “No. I’m still here, and I’m not splitting my house in two just to shut you up. Go bicker in your own homes.”
David looked embarrassed, but Lisa crossed her arms. “We’re just trying to help, Mom.”
“Help?” Margaret scoffed. “If you want to help, wash the dishes. Otherwise, don’t come around here with your nonsense.”
An angry woman pointing | Source: Freepik
When they left, Margaret turned to me and shook her head. “They’re shameless, Dorothy. Just shameless.”
I patted her hand. “They’ll back off eventually.”
She smirked. “Don’t count on it. But I’ve got a plan.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked cautiously.
Two women talking in their kitchen | Source: Midjourney
Margaret didn’t answer right away. She just smiled like I hadn’t seen in years. “You’ll see,” she said simply.
A week later, Margaret was gone.
She left no warning, no calls, no explanations—just a single note on my doorstep. It was written in her neat, no-nonsense handwriting:
A note on the doorstep | Source: Midjourney
“Dear Dorothy,
Don’t worry about me. I’m safe, and I need some time to myself. Keep an eye on the vultures for me. I’ll be back when I’m ready.
Love, Margaret.”
A woman writing a note | Source: Midjourney
At first, I thought she might have gone to a nearby bed-and-breakfast or was staying with an old friend. But as days turned into weeks, it became clear she was much further than that. Her phone was disconnected, and no one—not even her children—knew where she was.
Lisa and David were frantic. They showed up at my house constantly, asking if I had heard from her.
A nervous woman | Source: Pexels
“She wouldn’t just leave,” Lisa insisted, her voice teetering between anger and worry. “This isn’t like her.”
David was less dramatic but just as concerned. “She’s punishing us,” he said flatly, pacing my living room. “That’s what this is about. She’s making a point.”
An angry confused man | Source: Pexels
I played dumb, shrugging whenever they pressed me for information. “I haven’t heard from her,” I lied, knowing full well that Margaret would’ve wanted it that way.
Then, one quiet morning, I found a postcard in my mailbox. The picture on the front was of a serene mountain scene, snowcapped peaks under a bright blue sky. The handwriting on the back was unmistakably Margaret’s:
A mountain forest | Source: Pexels
“Dear Dorothy,
I’m finally breathing fresh air. Wish you were here—but don’t tell the vultures. I’ll write again soon.
Love, Margaret.”
I stood on my porch, clutching the card, tears stinging my eyes. Margaret wasn’t just gone. She was free. And as much as I missed her, I couldn’t help but feel a little envious.
A happy woman with a postcard | Source: Midjourney
When Margaret returned, she looked like a new woman. Her cheeks were rosy, her step lighter, and her eyes had a spark that had been missing for years.
“Well, don’t just stand there gawking, Dorothy,” she said, grinning as she breezed through my door with a small suitcase. “I’m back, and I’ve got stories to tell. Put the kettle on.”
I couldn’t stop staring. She looked ten years younger. There was a calm, almost radiant energy about her.
A smiling elderly woman | Source: Pexels
“Where were you, Margaret?” I asked, half-laughing and half-serious.
She wagged a finger. “A lady never reveals all her secrets. Just know that I went where I needed to go.”
A few days later, Margaret passed away peacefully in her sleep. I found her in bed, a small smile on her face, as if she’d simply drifted off into a dream.
An elderly woman smiling in her sleep | Source: Midjourney
The day of Margaret’s will reading was overcast, and the lawyer’s office was packed. Lisa and David sat on opposite ends of the room, their spouses and grown children huddled close, whispering and casting suspicious glances at one another. The air buzzed with anticipation.
I sat quietly in the corner, clutching my purse. Margaret had shared enough with me that I knew what was coming, but that didn’t make it any less thrilling.
A serious woman looking up | Source: Pexels
The lawyer, a composed man with a sharp suit and a no-nonsense demeanor, began with the formalities. Margaret had left some sentimental items to friends, small donations to charity, and a few keepsakes to her grandchildren. The family’s polite nods were a thin veil over their growing impatience.
Finally, the lawyer paused and looked up. “Now, regarding the properties,” he said, flipping to the next page.
A lawyer in his office | Source: Pexels
Lisa’s head shot up. David leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“The large house and the bungalow have both been sold,” the lawyer announced.
“What?” Lisa’s voice cracked as she shot out of her chair. “She sold them? Without telling us?”
David looked equally stunned, his face turning a deep shade of red. “She… what did she do with the money?” he demanded.
A shocked man looking at the papers | Source: Pexels
The lawyer remained calm. “She traveled extensively, fulfilling a lifelong dream. She left a note for her family.” He opened an envelope and read aloud:
“To my beloved children and grandchildren,
Thank you for reminding me that life is short and my happiness is my own to claim. I hope you learn from my example: spend what you’ve earned, enjoy what you’ve built, and live while you can. The houses are gone, but the memories I made will last forever.
A woman writing her will | Source: Midjourney
Dorothy, the money I’ve left is yours. Don’t spend the rest of your life tied to this street. Use it to see the world, just like I did. Live boldly.”
The room erupted.
“She what?!” Lisa shrieked. “That house was supposed to stay in the family!”
A shocked woman | Source: Pexels
“This is insane!” David thundered. “Who spends everything without leaving something behind?”
Jessica, Lisa’s eldest, flipped through the photo album the lawyer handed over, her jaw dropping. “Is this… Grandma on a gondola? In Venice?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Margaret would’ve loved this.
A happy woman in a gondola | Source: Midjourney
As the lawyer flipped through the album, he narrated some of Margaret’s escapades: riding a Vespa, sipping wine in a vineyard, and dancing in a village square. Each photo was more joyful than the last, a testament to her unapologetic embrace of life.
“She used us,” Lisa hissed, glaring at me. “Did you know about this?”
An angry woman | Source: Pexels
I raised my tea cup, smiling. “All I know is Margaret did what made her happy. Isn’t that what you wanted for her?”
A month later, I stood at the airport with her photo album tucked into my carry-on. My first destination was Paris.
A woman in an airport | Source: Midjourney
As the plane soared above the clouds, I pulled out the album and flipped through the pages. There was Margaret, laughing in the sunshine, raising a glass in some charming café.
“This one’s for you, Margaret,” I whispered, raising a tiny plastic cup of champagne.
A laughing elderly woman | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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