I had recently stepped into the role of manager at a catering company that I had been working at for years. My boss, Tom, was going through chemotherapy, so I took over one of his biggest gigs — a wedding with 150 guests, featuring premium steak plates at $50 each. It was a big deal, and I was determined to prove I could keep things running smoothly.
Everything had been fine until 1 p.m. the day before the event, when I received a call from Camille, the bride-to-be. I knew this was trouble from the moment her name lit up on my phone.
“Hello, Camille. How can I help you?” I greeted, trying to keep my tone calm.
