You never know who you'll meet at the post office

Few people know what it means to wear one, but I proudly put on my flight suit and went on campus. People don’t really stare; it’s rude and they might not even care. Guys work out around here, so I didn’t really take notice of the built guy with a cropped cut tucked underneath a baseball cap. He walked up to the counter with an open box, saying that he’s sending it to Iraq. “Do you have friends there?”
“Yeah…actually, I just got back from there.” This I gotta hear.
I was in a hurry, so there wasn’t much time to talk, save learning that this West Point graduate just got discharged (at least a captain, given the length of commitment) and is now working on a degree in the business school. I felt small and undeserving in my flight suit with an ostrich patch. If I didn’t ask, he would’ve told no one of what he just went through, and even after I asked, he still didn’t brag. Yet there I was, standing next to him, clothed in my inexperience.
“Welcome home, soldier. And thank you” was all that I could offer.
“Yeah, thanks. See ya around.” The unassuming warrior went about his business like everyone else.