I Made Bikers Pay Before They Ate Because I Didn’t Trust Them But They Made Me Cry With Their Action

I Made Bikers Pay Before They Ate Because I Didn’t Trust Them But They Made Me Cry With Their Action
I made the bikers pay before they ate because I didn’t trust them. Fifteen of them walked into my diner at 9 PM on a Tuesday night, leather vests covered in patches, beards down to their chests, tattoos crawling up their necks.

I’d been running Maggie’s Diner for thirty-two years and I knew trouble when I saw it.

“Payment upfront,” I told them. “All of you. Before you sit down.”

The one in front—biggest of them all, gray hair pulled back in a ponytail—raised his eyebrows. “Ma’am?”

“You heard me. I’ve had your type in here before. Eat a hundred dollars worth of food and disappear out the back. Not tonight. You pay first or you leave.”

The other customers were staring. A family with two small kids. An elderly couple celebrating their anniversary. A young woman studying with her laptop. All of them watching me humiliate these men.

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