Stephen Curry’s Driver Is Treated Like a Thief in a Watch Store – Until the Owner Learns the Truth

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The Watch That Changed More Than Time

The Rolex Submariner gleamed beneath the pristine lighting of Prestige Time Pieces, a symbol of achievement and aspiration—yet for Marcus Johnson, it seemed separated by a barrier more formidable than the glass display. For three years, Marcus had saved every tip, every overtime hour, every bonus, dreaming of the day he could wear that watch on his wrist. But as he would soon discover, in the world of luxury retail, $12,500 wasn’t the only price expected of him.

Marcus woke up before his alarm as he always did, a habit ingrained from years of hard work. At 35, the son of a teacher and a mechanic, he bore the quiet confidence of someone who had built his life on discipline and determination. His mother used to say, “Character is what you do when no one is looking.” Marcus lived by those words.

He started working at sixteen, washing cars, later becoming a driver for a limousine company. His professionalism and encyclopedic knowledge of the Bay Area soon made him stand out. The turning point in his life came four years ago, when he was called to pick up NBA superstar Stephen Curry at the airport. What should have been a routine ride turned into a conversation that felt easy and genuine. Two weeks later, Marcus was offered the job as Curry’s full-time personal driver.

“Working for Steph changed my life,” Marcus told his brother one evening. “It’s not just the salary—which is great—it’s the respect. He treats everyone like they matter.”

During long drives, Marcus developed a passion for luxury watches. What began as idle curiosity soon became a fascination with craftsmanship and heritage. In his spare time, he read catalogs and watchmaking forums, learning everything he could. For three years, he meticulously saved into what he called his “dream fund,” with one goal: a Rolex Submariner. Not the most expensive, but to him, a symbol of hard-earned achievement.

On this particular morning, Curry was away on a family retreat, giving Marcus a rare day off. He took a deep breath, straightened his shirt, and set out for Prestige Time Pieces in San Francisco’s Union Square. He had researched the store for months, admired the watches in its window countless times, and today, he would finally step inside as a customer.

The store was exactly as he had imagined—strategic lighting, black velvet displays, and an air of exclusivity. Three salespeople chatted near the counter; one was helping a well-dressed couple, another was explaining details to an older gentleman, and the third, a young man in an impeccable suit, glanced at Marcus before returning to his phone.

Marcus waited patiently, watching as the couple received champagne while browsing. Five minutes passed, then ten. No one approached him. Determined not to be intimidated, Marcus walked to the showcase with the Submariner. As he admired the watch, he noticed a man—about sixty, with perfectly combed hair and a tailored suit—watching him with suspicion.

“May I help you?” the man asked, his tone more interrogative than welcoming.

“Good morning,” Marcus replied politely. “I’m interested in seeing this Submariner up close, please.”

The man, Richard Bennett, the store owner, didn’t move. Instead, he scanned Marcus from head to toe, as if weighing his worth. “That model is $12,500,” Richard said, voice testing for a reaction.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Marcus replied, steady. “That’s exactly the one I’m interested in.”

With visible reluctance, Richard opened the case and removed the watch. “I’ve been admiring this model for some time,” Marcus said, trying to keep the interaction normal. “The precision, the heritage—it’s a beautiful piece.”

Richard remained silent, tension thick in the air. Instead of sharing details about the watch, he asked, “And how do you intend to pay for this today?”

Marcus realized he hadn’t been offered a seat, water, or champagne—courtesies extended to others. “Bank transfer,” he replied, feeling a pulse of indignation.

“I see.” Richard tilted his head. “Would it be possible to see proof of funds? Just as a precaution. These are high-value items.”

Marcus glanced at the couple across the store, who were trying on watches without any such scrutiny. “Of course,” he said, keeping his dignity. He produced a bank statement from his pocket and placed it on the counter. Richard examined it with thinly veiled skepticism.

Meanwhile, Marcus noticed the young salesperson gesture subtly to the security guard, who began to approach. The atmosphere shifted; other customers cast curious glances, some whispering.

“You know,” Richard continued, returning the statement with a dismissive gesture, “this model has a waiting list. Perhaps we could show you some more accessible alternatives.”

The implication was clear. Marcus took a deep breath. “Mr. Bennett,” he said, reading the name on the badge, “I’m here specifically for this model, for which I’ve saved for three years. I have the necessary funds, as you can see. I’d like to know why I’m being treated differently from the other customers.”

The direct but polite confrontation seemed to destabilize Richard. His face reddened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, voice stiff. “We’re just following standard security protocols.”

“Protocols that seem to apply selectively,” Marcus observed, calm but firm.

Richard collected the watch abruptly. “Perhaps it would be better if you returned another day. We’re particularly busy, and I believe your presence is making our other customers uncomfortable.”

The words hit Marcus like a slap. He kept his head high as he walked toward the door, the fresh San Francisco air a stark contrast to the suffocating environment he’d just left.

He was still gathering his composure outside when he heard a familiar voice. “Marcus! Hey, Marcus!”

Turning, Marcus saw Steph Curry, dressed down in sunglasses and a cap. “Steph? I thought you were on retreat with your family,” Marcus said, surprised.

“Last minute change of plans,” Curry explained, then noticed Marcus’s shaken expression. “Is everything okay? You seem upset.”

For years, Marcus had kept his work and personal life separate. But something in him broke. “Actually, no,” Marcus admitted, quietly pointing to the store. “I just had a rather unpleasant experience in there.”

In a few words, Marcus recounted the discriminatory treatment. Curry’s face hardened as he listened. “That’s not right,” Curry said, voice steely. “Let’s go back in there.”

“It’s not necessary, Steph—” Marcus began.

“Exactly why we need to go back,” Curry interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “Nobody should get used to this.”

They walked back in. Richard Bennett looked up, irritation turning to shock as he recognized Curry. The store fell silent, customers stopping mid-sentence. Curry greeted Richard with politeness that barely concealed his firmness.

“I’d like to introduce you to someone who apparently wasn’t properly recognized here today,” Curry said, placing a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “This is Marcus Johnson, my personal driver for four years and someone I trust completely.”

Richard’s face drained of color as Curry continued, “Marcus told me about his experience this morning. I’m deeply disappointed by the treatment he received.”

“There was a terrible misunderstanding,” Richard stammered. “We never—I would never—”

“Marcus came here to buy a watch he’s admired for years,” Curry said, cutting in. “He saved for a long time and deserves the same respect and dignity as any customer.”

Richard ran a hand through his hair, visibly rattled. “Absolutely, Mr. Curry. A terrible error in judgment. Mr. Johnson, I offer my sincerest apologies for the inadequate treatment.”

Where there had been suspicion and disdain, now there was almost exaggerated service. Champagne was offered, the watch presented with care. Marcus put the Submariner on his wrist, feeling its satisfying weight.

“It’s perfect,” he said, allowing himself a moment of genuine appreciation despite the circumstances.

“Absolutely magnificent on your wrist, Mr. Johnson,” Richard said. “And of course, we’ll offer a special discount—”

“No special discount is necessary,” Marcus interrupted, calm. “Just the fair price you’d offer anyone.”

The transaction was completed efficiently. When they left the store, the feeling was bittersweet. Marcus’s dream was realized, but the taste of humiliation lingered.

In the days that followed, a customer’s partial recording of the scene went viral. Prestige Time Pieces faced a public relations storm. Richard issued a public apology, but the damage was done.

A week later, Marcus received a surprising call. “Mr. Johnson, this is Richard Bennett. Could we meet for a private conversation?”

They met at a small café. Richard seemed to have aged years in a week. “I can’t escape the truth,” Richard admitted. “I treated you that way because of your skin color. The hardest part is realizing it wasn’t an isolated incident. It’s prejudice I’ve carried for decades.”

“Recognition is the first step,” Marcus said quietly. “But what will you do about it?”

“I’m closing the store for two weeks. Everyone will attend anti-bias training. But that’s just the start. I want your help to make real changes—not just here, but in the luxury sector.”

“Why would I help someone who humiliated me?” Marcus asked.

“Because you care about changing things more than revenge. And because I can’t do this alone.”

In the weeks that followed, an unlikely partnership formed. Marcus consulted on new policies, identifying subtle discrimination in luxury retail. Three months later, they hosted an event—“Conversations on Inclusion”—with diversity experts, industry leaders, and Steph Curry as guest speaker.

“When I was invited, I hesitated,” Curry told the audience. “But then I saw the real work Marcus and Richard were doing—turning a painful moment into a catalyst for change.”

The event drew national attention. Prestige Time Pieces, under Marcus’s guidance, launched an internship for underprivileged youth interested in watchmaking.

Six months after the incident, Marcus wore the Submariner for the first time since buying it. The watch no longer represented humiliation, but hope—a symbol of what could be changed.

At the Chase Center that evening, Curry noticed the watch on Marcus’s wrist. “Finally wearing the Submariner, huh?” he asked with a grin.

“I decided it was time,” Marcus replied. “Some things are too valuable to keep hidden away.”

Curry smiled. “You turned something terrible into something important, Marcus. That’s rarer than any Rolex.”

Marcus reflected on the journey. The watch on his wrist now marked not just hours, but the rhythm of a change beginning to spread—a step toward a world where people are judged by their character, not the color of their skin.