He picked his city center location, the first one he had launched, where his mother once assisted with baking pies. As he stepped onto the pavement, the hum of traffic and morning pedestrians surrounded him. The aroma of frying bacon wafted through the air. His pulse quickened. Inside the café, the recognizable red seats and patterned tile floor welcomed him.

The air carried the scents of bacon, coffee, and freshly baked bread. Normally, those smells brought pride. Today, they made his chest tighten. Complaints had been stacking up: slow service, rude staff, sloppy food. It wasn’t just occasional mistakes — it was a trend. To understand what had gone wrong, he needed to see it for himself, unnoticed.

Inside, the diner looked unchanged — red vinyl booths, checkered floors, shiny chrome edges. But the warmth had vanished. No greetings. No smiles. Just indifference.

Two cashiers were behind the counter. One, a young woman in a pink apron, scrolled on her phone while chewing gum. The other, Denise, older and tired-eyed, barely glanced up. When she finally muttered, “Next,” Jordan stepped forward.

“Good morning,” he said.

No response. Just a sigh as she rang up his order and tossed the change onto the counter.

From a corner booth, Jordan observed. The staff wasn’t busy — they were careless. A mother repeating her request three times went ignored. An elderly man asking about a discount was brushed off. A worker swore loudly after dropping silverware.

Then he caught their whispers.

“Did you see that guy who ordered the sandwich?” the young cashier murmured. “Looks like he’s been living in a tunnel.”

Denise snorted. “This isn’t a charity. Bet he complains about the price too.”

They laughed.

Jordan’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t that they thought he was homeless. It was that they treated anyone in need the same way — without respect.

A construction worker entered, dusty from his shift, politely asking for water. Denise snapped, “If you’re not buying more, don’t loiter.”

That was the last straw.Continue reading…