The Woman Who Was 83 While everyone laughed, they counted pennies for bread. Then a biker made them cry.
As Marjorie Ellis, 83, walked into the bakery with a little cloth bag clasped to her chest, the bell above the entrance rang quietly. She was just a little taller than the counter. The morning rush was in full swing. Customers were grabbing croissants, parents were managing coffee and kids, while workers were eagerly reading through their phones.
But when people saw Marjorie, slumped over, shaking, and holding a loaf of day-old bread, they started to talk.
“Here we go again,” one young man said quietly.
“She always makes the line longer,” someone else said loudly enough for her to hear.
Marjorie attempted not to pay attention to them. She put the bread on the counter and gently opened her bag.
There were coins inside.
A lot of them.
The cashier let out a sigh.
“Ma’am, the cost has increased. Now it’s $1.10.
Marjorie stopped, and her face fell. Before she left home, she had counted out exactly 98 cents, which was the last money she would have for the week.
“Oh… “I see,” she said softly.
“Just give me a second. I might have more.
She started to sift the coins with shaky hands.
The pennies made a noise on the counter.
People laughed behind her.
“Really? “Pennies?”
“Come on, lady!”
“Does she think it’s 1950?”
“Get her out of the way.” Some of us work.
Marjorie took a deep breath. She wouldn’t cry, even if her eyes were shining. She had been through much worse in her life. But the laughs hurt more than being hungry.
The cashier leaned forward, annoyed.
“Ma’am, you’re short.” “If you can’t pay—”
The bakery door slammed open all of a sudden.
Everyone looked.
A big guy in a black leather jacket came in. He sported a beard that resembled steel wool. Big boots. Arms with tattoos.
A biker, the kind of guy that people naturally stayed away from.
He stopped and looked at Marjorie.
“What’s going on here?” he grumbled.
The customers moved around awkwardly. Nobody wanted to answer.
The cashier shrugged. “Nothing.” She doesn’t have—
He cut in, “How much?”
“Ten dollars.”
The biker took twenty dollars cash out of his pocket. He put it on the counter.
“Do whatever she asks.” And keep the money.
The room got quiet.
Marjorie looked up, surprised.
“Oh, no… That’s too much.” I can’t accept—”
But the man squatted down next to her so they could see each other.
His voice got softer.
He added, “My mom used to count pennies too.”” People laughed at her in the same manner. I wasn’t strong enough back then to stop them.
He peered around the bakery with eyes that were as piercing as glass.
“I’m big enough now.”
No one said anything. No one had the guts.
Those who had laughed slowly put their heads down. Some people wiped their eyes. They felt more guilty than any lecture could make them feel.
The biker looked back at Marjorie.
“You’re not by yourself. Not today.
She blinked, and finally the tears came. Not because of shame, but because of unexpected kindness.
“Thanks,” she said softly. “I just wanted a little bread.”
He grinned softly.
“Then that’s exactly what you’ll get.”
The cashier hurriedly put the bread in a bag and then added a couple of pastries and a fresh roll, all for free. She couldn’t look them in the eye.
The customers split up as they walked toward the entrance. A few people said they were sorry. A young woman touched Marjorie’s arm.
“I’m… “I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice.
The rider held the door open from the outside.
“Do you live nearby, ma’am?”
“Only a few blocks.”
“Let me walk you.”
The petite old woman and the huge motorbike walked along the sidewalk next to each other.
The other customers in the bakery stood still and quiet, several of them blinking back tears.
Nobody laughed anymore.