As I walked into the bridal salon, excitement mixed with nerves. At 55 and Hispanic, I knew I didn’t fit the “usual” bridal mold, but that didn’t bother me. I was here to find my dream gown. The gleaming salon with marble floors and chandeliers was stunning, but the two sleek saleswomen eyed me with judgment.
One blonde approached, her politeness thinly veiled. “These dresses are very delicate,” she said, implying my hands weren’t. The second, a brunette, suggested clearance dresses, assuming I couldn’t afford anything more. I smiled, unfazed, and pointed to a $10,000 lace gown.
Before they could scoff further, the manager, John, appeared. “This is Ms. Morales, the soon-to-be owner of this salon,” he revealed, shocking the saleswomen. Their arrogance dissolved into fear.
Instead of firing them, I had a better plan. “Ashley,” I said to the blonde, “you’ll be my personal assistant for a month, learning the true meaning of this business. Matilda, you’ll study every dress style and material we carry.”
They nodded, eager to redeem themselves. “Now,” I said, smiling, “get me champagne and let’s find my perfect dress.”
As they scrambled to serve, I knew this was just the beginning. They’d soon learn that bridal work wasn’t just about selling gowns—it was about making dreams come true.
