When Marissa walked into the bridal salon, she felt excitement mixed with nerves. At 55 and Hispanic, she was aware she didn’t fit the “usual” bridal mold. The polished saleswomen exchanged judgmental glances, and Marissa steeled herself for the inevitable condescension.
“Can I help you?” one asked, her tone dripping with insincerity.
“I’d like to try on some dresses,” Marissa replied, mentioning her preference for lace.
The blonde raised an eyebrow. “These dresses are delicate. Maybe you should look at something more affordable?”
Marissa bit her tongue as the brunette chimed in about clearance dresses. Undeterred, she pointed to a stunning lace gown.
“Are you sure? That dress is over $10,000. It might be out of your budget,” the blonde scoffed.
Just then, John, the salon manager, entered. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, just making sure our merchandise stays safe,” the blonde said, trying to downplay her rudeness.
John’s expression turned serious. “You mean Ms. Morales, soon-to-be Mrs. Shepherd? The new owner of this salon?”
Shock washed over the saleswomen.
“I have half a mind to fire you both!” John exclaimed. “Do you treat customers like this?”
Marissa intervened. “Not yet. Instead, I want Ashley here to be my personal assistant for the next month.”
“P-Personal assistant?” Ashley stammered.
“Yes. You’ll learn what this business is really about,” Marissa said, her voice steady. “You’ll treat every bride with respect.”
Turning to the brunette, Marissa added, “Matilda, you will study every dress and material we carry.”
They nodded, chastened.
“Now, Ashley, get me some champagne and ask what kind of dress I want,” Marissa instructed.
As Ashley ran off, Matilda fetched the lace gown.
“Think it will suit me?” Marissa asked.
“I think you’ll look beautiful, but a sweetheart neckline would enhance your shoulders,” Matilda replied.
“Much better,” Marissa smiled.