I was two steps from the counter, number 42 in hand, when the guy next to me—tan suit, Bluetooth in ear—lunged forward and snatched my food.
Didn’t even blink. Just goes, “We ordered the same thing, but I’m in a hurry,” and walks off.

I stood there stunned. So did the cashier. He shrugged like this happened often.
But then, not five seconds after Suit Guy shoved out the door, we all heard it.

A crash. A very specific kind—paper bag hitting concrete, followed by a honk, a dog barking, and a woman yelling “Watch it!”
Everyone behind the counter rushed to the window.

I got there just in time to see my sandwich… stuck to the windshield of a city bus.
And the guy? Still holding the receipt.

The whole bag had exploded mid-air. There was sauce dripping down the glass like abstract art.
He just stood there with this dumbfounded expression, like he couldn’t believe food obeyed the laws of physics.

People behind me were trying not to laugh. One guy openly clapped.
The cashier leaned over and muttered, “Karma’s always on lunch break—except today, I guess.”

I laughed, mostly because the alternative was getting mad.
It was just a sandwich, right? But the way that guy acted like the world owed him… yeah, it stuck with me.

The manager came out, apologizing on behalf of the universe.
They made me another order for free, tossed in a cookie too.

I was halfway through my sandwich at the window when I noticed Suit Guy hadn’t moved.
He was on the phone, red in the face, pacing in little circles.

Then I realized—his car was double-parked. And now boxed in.
City bus on one side, a delivery truck on the other, and a meter maid already jotting down notes.

He kept trying to reason with her, but the more he talked, the more she wrote.
Eventually, she slapped a bright orange ticket on his windshield like a badge of honor.

He peeled it off, crumpled it, tossed it toward a trash can—and missed.
That got another round of applause from the inside.

I figured that was the end of it. A petty moment, sure, but satisfying in its own small way.
Life had a funny way of keeping the scales even.

But that wasn’t the last I saw of him.

About a week later, I was downtown for a job interview.
Small firm, nothing fancy. Just something to pay the bills while I figured out what to do next.

I walked into the waiting room and froze.
There he was—Tan Suit, sitting across from me with the same smug Bluetooth in his ear.

He didn’t recognize me. Why would he?
To him, I was just a blur in the background of his fast-paced life.

But I recognized him immediately.
Same haircut, same impatient foot-tapping, same air of “I run this place” even though we were both just applicants.

He got called in before me. The receptionist whispered his name when they came for him.
“Mr. Trask, we’re ready.”

Trask. I filed that away.

When it was my turn, I walked in with my palms sweating and my heart trying to leap out of my chest.
The interview panel was two people: a woman named Sheila, and a guy named Eric.

Friendly enough. Asked all the usual questions.
Then Sheila glanced at my resume and said, “You listed Franklin Square Deli under past experience? That’s our go-to lunch spot!”

I chuckled. “It’s a great place. Though I saw a guy get his karma served fresh there just last week.”

Eric raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

So I told them the story.
I kept it vague at first—no names, just a man in a suit stealing food and getting instant justice by way of a city bus.

They both laughed, especially when I described the sandwich on the windshield.
Eric wiped tears from his eyes. “That’s gold. The city bus part? Hilarious.”

Then Sheila leaned back and said, “Wait… did this guy wear a tan suit? Bluetooth earpiece? Kind of… entitled?”

I blinked. “Yeah. Why?”

She and Eric exchanged looks.
“Trask,” she said slowly. “That’s who was just in here.”

I tried to keep my face neutral, but inside, my stomach did a flip.
Sheila leaned forward. “He actually told us a story about someone stealing his sandwich at the deli. Claimed the guy ran off with his order, so he had to eat on the curb like some martyr.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “That’s not what happened. I was number 42. He took mine. Whole deli saw it.”

Eric nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Honestly, he came off a little… aggressive.”

They thanked me for coming in and said they’d be in touch.
I walked out feeling better than I had in weeks, though I didn’t expect to hear back.

Two days later, I got the offer.

Not only that—when I came in to fill out the paperwork, Sheila told me they’d passed on Trask.
Something about “poor fit” and “questionable integrity.”

Life doesn’t always hand you a front-row seat to karma, but when it does, it’s sweet.
Still, that wasn’t the best part.

About three months into the job, our firm landed a new client—a nonprofit trying to expand their housing initiatives.
They needed help with PR, strategy, and legal support.

Guess who was on the opposing team trying to block the zoning?
Yep. Mr. Trask. Now working for a firm that had a reputation for dragging out cases just to bill hours.

We met again in a mediation meeting.
This time, he recognized me.

“You,” he said slowly. “The sandwich guy.”

I smiled. “And you, the karma magnet.”

He laughed, but not in a friendly way.
Tried to shake my hand, but I kept mine at my side. Professional, but cold.

The meeting went south fast for his side.
Turns out, one of his associates had been caught fabricating zoning complaints using fake names.

Our team presented it. He had no clue it was coming.

By the end of the week, their firm had to withdraw. The nonprofit got their permits.
And our firm? We got a glowing recommendation that brought in even more clients.

One afternoon, Sheila popped her head into my office.
“You still glad we passed on Trask?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” I said. “And not just because of the sandwich.”

She laughed. “You know, we almost hired him before you. You were our second choice.”

That gave me pause. “Seriously?”

She nodded. “But the sandwich story? It sealed the deal. Not because of what happened, but how you handled it. You didn’t throw a fit. You let life handle it.”

And that stuck with me.
Because sometimes, it’s not about getting even. It’s about staying grounded long enough for life to even the score.

Suit Guy had gotten his moment—front row humiliation, professional loss, and a reminder that arrogance doesn’t get you very far.
Me? I got a job, some solid coworkers, and the satisfaction of watching karma do its thing.

Funny thing is, I still go to that deli every other Friday.
The cashier remembers me now. Calls me “Karma Guy.”

Last week, I saw someone try to cut the line, real slick.
The cashier didn’t even blink. Just handed the next number to a woman who’d been waiting patiently.

“Nice try,” he said, loud enough for the whole place to hear. “But we do things fair in here.”

I smiled as I bit into my sandwich, warm and perfect.
Because sometimes the best revenge isn’t payback—it’s progress.

Have you ever seen karma work its magic right in front of you? If you enjoyed this story, give it a like or share it with someone who needs a reminder: what goes around does come around.