A furious, booming voice tore through the quiet hum of the diner.
Storming down the center aisle with heavy, aggressive steps was Gary Vance, the general manager. Dressed in a gray button-down shirt and a navy apron, Gary’s face was flushed red with anger as he shoved his way to the table, glaring down at the meal with undisguised contempt.
"Company policy strictly dictates that shift meals are designated for active staff only," Gary barked, pointing an aggressive finger into Toby's chest. "We don't run a soup kitchen for vagrants off the highway!"
Toby didn't flinch or retreat. He stood tall beside the booth, looking directly into the manager's furious eyes.
"He needs it more than I do, Mr. Vance."
The old man began eating hungrily, desperate for warmth and nourishment, while Gary’s jaw clenched into tight rage.
"You're in direct violation of operational rules," Gary snarled. "You're fired."
Toby watched the elder eat in peace and turned back to Gary with steady, unwavering dignity.
"I'd make the same choice again."