I’m scouting a mom-and-pop fast food restaurant, the kind that has literally everything on the menu. It’s about 4pm. A man who is clearly homeless walks in and goes to the front counter and orders french toast with a side of bacon, in a voice that sounds both utterly exhausted and triumphant. He counts out the cost in crumbled bills and coins down to the penny, then sits at a booth and waits patiently.
A short time later, the waitress brings him his plate. A pause, then he asks, as though embarrassed, “ma’am, I’m sorry, but can I have some Tobasco sauce? I’m sorry, I don’t have a lot of money.” And she says of course, and brings him a bottle. A short time later, she passes, and he asks her for more maple syrup packets, again with that ashamed tone. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t have a lot of money,” he says, and she shushes him and brings him a big pile of maple syrup packets.
A little later after that, the man guiltily signals her, and says, “I’m sorry, but was it supposed to be four pieces of bacon? Because there were only three. I’m really very sorry. I just don’t have much money.” The waitress goes back and chats with the cook, and I hear him gruffly say, “I gave him four. I’m sure I gave him four!” But she waves him off and returns with a little cup with a few more strips of bacon. And the man says, “oh, this is too much. Ma’am, I’m sorry, I don’t have much money.”
And the waitress says, “Honey, as long as you’re well fed, that’s all I care about.”
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