I once broke up a fight at a truck stop diner.
One summer while in college, I waitressed during the graveyard shift at the Truck Stop Cafe in Jefferson, Iowa. One night, around 3 AM, I heard a commotion and spun around to see two guys in a rope-a-dope hold. From the body language of those around them, I could tell one of them had taken a swing at the other. One man was dressed in a softball uniform, no doubt coming to …
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