That morning, it was drizzling. An old man walked into the lobby of the high-rise building in the city center, leaning on a cane, his clothes old and soaking wet. He was thin, hunched, with white hair, and his hands trembled as he hugged a plastic bag containing several cartons of milk. The guard looked at him doubtfully but did not stop him, as he was quietly heading toward the elevator.
The elevator stopped. A female employee entered first, wearing a tight office skirt, and the heels of her shoes clacked. She fixed her lipstick using her phone’s screen, then glanced at the old man. The smell of mildew from the old man’s wet clothes wafted up, making her grimace.
– “Grandpa, you’ve made a mistake. This elevator is only for office guests and employees. The stairs are in the back.” – Her voice was raised, tinged with authority.
The old man smiled slightly, remaining in his spot. – “I’m old, dear, I can’t climb the stairs anymore.”
The woman angrily retorted: – “I’m telling you, rules are rules. Don’t wait for the guard to drag you out. I have a meeting, hurry up.”
The guard heard this and immediately ran over. The old man looked at his old plastic sandals, then at their cold stares, and slowly stepped out of the elevator. The door closed, the woman looked in the reflection and fixed her hair, satisfied that she had “resolved” the disturbance.
At noon, as she was eating her packed lunch, the manager called her into the office. Also in the room was the building director – a man in his late fifties, well-built but with a face full of experience.
– “Did you make an old man leave the elevator this morning?” – The director’s voice was calm but his gaze was sharp.
– “Ah… his clothes were dirty, sir, and he was disturbing the clients. I was just maintaining the company’s image.”
The director looked directly at her. – “Do you know who that old man was?”
The woman went silent.
– “He is the investor and the owner of this building.”
The room fell quiet. The tick of the clock’s second hand was clearly audible. The woman was shocked, her face turning pale.
The director continued his story: – “He came from poverty, built the business himself, but he maintains a simple lifestyle. This morning, he bought milk for the charity of the orphanage he supports. He wanted to see how the employees would treat the elderly, the poor, and the vulnerable. And he saw it.”
Tears streamed down the woman’s face. She never thought that because of a little arrogance, a little fear of dirt, a little misplaced pride, she had hurt the most important person in that place.
That afternoon, the old man reappeared, wearing his old brown clothes, pushing a small cart full of milk and rice. When he passed through the lobby, everyone bowed their heads in respect. The woman stood to the side, trembling. The old man looked at her, his eyes kind but sad. He didn’t scold her, just nodded and walked straight ahead.
But that nod crushed the woman. It was not forgiveness. It was a quiet disappointment. That night, she couldn’t sleep from crying. She thought of her elderly parents, she thought of the day when she too would be weak, wearing broken sandals, and someone else would chase her away like trash.
The next day, she submitted her resignation letter. Before leaving the building, she left a letter of apology for the old man. In the letter, she wrote: “I was proud then that I knew the law, and that I was maintaining the company’s image. But I didn’t understand that the value of a company lies in how it treats the least of these. I apologize.”
The old man did not reply. But several years later, when she had become a customer service employee at another company, she received a gift basket. Inside was a small carton of milk, a packet of biscuits, and a card that read:
“A person is superior through their heart (character).”
There was no signature. But she knew who it was.
That day, she sat down, drank the milk, and looked at the rain falling outside the window, feeling lighter. Life had taught her a lesson she would never forget: Rich or poor, noble or humble, are just outer garments. What determines a person’s character is how they treat those weaker than them.