I was just about to untie my apron and call it a day when she stormed in—a whirlwind of fury wrapped in an expensive coat, clutching a pizza box like it was a ticking time bomb. The door slammed shut behind her with a force that made the windows rattle, and suddenly, our cozy little pizza shop felt like ground zero.“Where’s the manager?” she barked, her eyes laser-focused on the counter, where my grandmother was calmly manning the register, completely unfazed by the storm brewing just a few feet away. I paused, one hand still on the knot of my apron, and exchanged a glance with Grandma. “Is there something I can do for you, dear?” Grandma asked the irate woman. I couldn’t help but admire the way she handled these situations with the kind of grace I could only dream of having someday. “This isn’t the darn pizza I ordered! What the heck are you going to do about it?”

the woman snapped, her voice reverberating off the walls, filling the small shop with her misplaced rage. She slammed the pizza box onto the counter, the force of it nearly making me flinch. I took a step back as she angrily flipped the box open, more out of habit than fear. If there was one thing I knew, it was that my grandmother could handle anything.Grandma’s smile never wavered. She glanced at the box and then looked the furious woman dead in the eye. “I’m going to do nothing, dear,” Grandma said, her voice as soothing as a lullaby. “Nothing?!” The woman’s voice rose another octave, the veins in her neck standing out in sharp relief. “Are you kidding me?” She slapped her palm down against the counter. “This is unacceptable!