It was a quiet Tuesday afternoon at the Tim Hortons on King Street. The kind of slow day where the coffee feels a little stronger, and the regulars settle in like clockwork. The bell over the door jingled as Jeremy, a college student with earbuds still half in, walked inside.
He ordered a chocolate-glazed donut and an iced cappuccino, grabbed a corner seat, and started scrolling on his phone. A few minutes later, an elderly couple came in—Earl and Mabel. Married 53 years, they’d shared their daily double-double and honey cruller here every afternoon since Earl retired.
Bored and restless, Jeremy finished his donut and started tossing an empty Timbit box like a baseball. Then, on a careless whim, he hurled a crumpled napkin toward the trash bin.
He missed—badly.
The napkin struck Mabel right on the back of her head.
The café fell silent. Earl turned slowly, the kind of calm fury only years of patience can bring.
“Son,” he said, standing deliberately, “have you ever thrown food at a lady before?”
Jeremy, caught off guard, stammered, “It was an accident—I was aiming for the bin!”
“You missed,” Earl said, stepping closer. “Twice.”
Mabel, unfazed, dabbed her hair with another napkin and sipped her tea. “Earl, don’t make a fuss,” she said softly.
“I won’t,” he replied. Then, locking eyes with Jeremy, he added, “But you will apologize.”
Jeremy apologized profusely, clearly trying to atone for all his mistakes in one go. Earl gave him a firm pat on the shoulder—a warning wrapped in kindness.
From that day on, Tim Hortons regulars would glance at that corner booth and smile, knowing the unspoken rule:
Don’t throw food at an old man’s wife in Tim Hortons.
