An old man was sitting quietly at a truck stop, enjoying a slice of pie and a glass of milk. His hands were slow, his back slightly bent, but his eyes were calm. The place was noisy, the kind of place where truckers and bikers stopped without thinking twice about manners.
That’s when three rough-looking bikers walked in.
As they passed the old man’s table, the first biker stopped, smirked, and ground his cigarette right into the old man’s pie. He laughed and headed to the counter. The second biker picked up the old man’s glass of milk, spit into it, and slammed it back down before joining his friends. The third biker flipped the old man’s plate onto the floor, sending pie everywhere, then took his seat with the others.
The bikers laughed loudly, watching to see what the old man would do.
But the old man didn’t say a word.
He calmly reached into his pocket, placed some money on the table, stood up slowly, and walked out of the truck stop.
One of the bikers snorted. “Not much of a man, is he?” he said to the waitress.
The waitress looked at the bikers, then glanced out the window.
“Well,” she said quietly, “he may not be much of a man… but he’s one heck of a truck driver.”
The bikers turned just in time to see an 18-wheeler backing over three motorcycles in the parking lot.
