I stepped forward. Slammed a twenty on the counter. “Her groceries are on me. And you’re going to apologize to her right now.”
The cashier’s smile disappeared. “Excuse me?”
“Sir, I don’t have to—”
“You just humiliated an eighty-year-old woman over twenty-three cents. In front of everyone. You laughed at her.”
My voice was shaking with anger. “So you’re going to apologize, or I’m going to stand here and tell every single customer who walks through that door exactly what kind of person works at this register.”
The manager appeared. Young guy in a tie. “Sir, is there a problem?”
“Yeah, there’s a problem. Your employee just mocked a senior citizen for being poor.”
The old woman tugged at my sleeve. “Please, it’s okay. I don’t want trouble. I’ll just go.”
“No ma’am.” I looked down at her. “You’re not going anywhere without your bread. And you’re not leaving here feeling ashamed. You did nothing wrong.”
The manager looked at the cashier. Looked at the line of people watching. Looked at me—6’2″, 240 pounds, leather vest covered in patches, beard down to my chest.
