The Old Man And The Punk

Living in West Virginia, the vast majority of strangers I encounter regard me with great disdain. They take one look at me and decide I'm the scum of the earth. For this reason, I make it a point, when in public, to conduct myself with the utmost kindness and politeness so that maybe the next time they see some guy with blue hair, a bunch of tattoos or anything else of the sort they might think twice before writing them off. That, and it's just the right thing to do; pausing a moment to hold a door for someone or picking up something they dropped only takes a second or two of my time but it could make the difference between them having a good day or a crappy one- it really is all about the small things. About an hour or so ago I walked to the store to get a coffee and spotted an elderly man struggling to change his tire. As I approached him he snapped "I don't have any change!" "No, sir," I replied, "I was wondering if you could use a little help with that." He eyed me suspiciously before muttering "alright" and I commenced to make quick work of what would have been quite arduous for him. After I finished, he offered to pay me and I declined- this really caught him off guard. "You know, buddy, I had you wrong" he said and we shook greasy hands. It felt very satisfying not only to help somebody out but also to hopefully put a dent in decades of prejudice.