Riches to rags

"Miranda, you really seemed to enjoy being rich and powerful. Heck, you pretty much made yourself the owner of the whole world. I think that makes the perfect punishment obvious."

With a snap your fingers, Miranda and the throne room disappear. You're now standing in front of the cheapest, dingiest diner in the country. Half the letters in the electric sign don't work and the windows are too dirty to see through clearly. You head inside.

"Hello sir," says Miranda without the slightest recognition of who you are. She's wearing a tiny waitress uniform, unbuttoned most of the way down the front to show off her huge rack. "Have a seat and I'll be with you in a sec."

You sit in a booth and watch Miranda finish up with another customer. She smiles and does everything he asks, but he only leaves a quarter for a tip.

When she's ready, she takes your order. The food comes quickly, but it is terrible. When you're done she comes back to your table to refill your drink, bending over deeply to make sure you see down her blouse.

"So how did you come to work here?" you ask.

"Oh, well, I thought dropping out of school and coming to the city would be a good idea. But then I couldn't get work as a model and I ran out of money, so I ended up taking this job. I need to make enough to get a bus ticket back home, but rent takes up all my check every week."

You look around at the meager customers, most of whom look like they're no better off. "I guess you don't get the greatest tips here?"

Miranda smiles weakly. "No. I try to smile and make people happy, but they just don't have the money to spare."