It was one of those hot afternoons when you feel you can wash away that heat in the pool once you enter McDonald to have some cool air.
I was at the front counter, working on the lunch rush of the day, fries a-flying, children a-running all over the place, ice cream machine busy groaning under the power and weight it was held to take.
Around 2.30 the confusion had settled. It is then that I saw an elderly man sitting all by himself at a corner. He sat in a wheelchair with his gaze locked on a melted soft-serve cone before him, as though the ice cream has gotten the best of him. The customers came and went, and feigned not to notice him.
There was something in the scene which made me stop. I took some napkin and approached his table.
I need help? I inquired, and I did not exactly know what kind of answer to expect. He nodded slightly and slowly to my astonishment.
This is just in example.
I took a seat, wiped up the mess of sticky goo and straightened the new cone so that he could take small bites without dripping the entire thing everywhere. It happened in less than ten minutes, a relative nothing of my break. Nevertheless, it seemed that it was the correct move.
When I rose to go, however, I felt a curious change fall over the room.
A woman by a window glanced and leaned in to talk to her companion looking a bit in my direction. One of our frequent customers expressed an eyebrow. Luis, my shift manager even glared at me like I had violated some unwritten rule.
I did not feel good about the reaction, but I shook it off until moments before the end of my shift. Luis took me aside towards the back.
Next time, you know, try to take care of that sort of thing, outside of business time, he said, his voice quite low but decided.
Translated, I was taken by surprise. What do you say?
He had not finished explaining when one of the workers at the drive thru thrust in his head. “Hey, someone is outside looking for you. By name.”
I walked out wondering and unsure, half hoping I would see the usual client.
Neither did I know him.
By the door a woman stood with smart eyes and a serious counting face. Whattas the name of that man you don t know it? said she.
The sun was burning with heat and I was alerting down. No, I answered. But he was in need and that is what mattered to me.
She heaved a sigh, very divided. I am not meaning that you did the wrong thing. … simply be careful. He is the one who has been loitering around here past what seems like years. His name is Alfred. He is said to be a mischief maker. I would hold my distance at that, would you.”
It was her worry, I could hear it in her voice, still there was a certain air of amorphous judgment that one would expect commonly of hearsay. I thanked him, observing carefully, that I might not offend him. I am going to rely on my own judgment though.
With a nod she turned her head and walked away. I paused a little, wanting to know what had happened, yet wanting too to understand. People were ready with something to say about Alfred not knowing, however, that no one had bothered talking to him.
I informed Luis that I did not feel that I had done anything wrong when I was leaving work a little later in the evening just before clocking out.
He shrugged his shoulders half and leaned over the counter.
Said he, You are a good worker. I simply do not want you to get into some kind of a mess. Management is rather big into boundaries. Can you care, mind you?”
I understood his point of view I suppose–the liability, the possible awkwardness. Still it seemed queer to me. What was dangerous about helping an old man with an ice cream cone?
The following day I reported to work as night shift, that is, at four. and there he was–Alfred–but at a new table, and shaking a small coffee cup with hands like dried leaves.
I Laid back a moment, what Luis had said repeating in my mind. Curiosity overpowered me though. I approached at a walking pace and was quite unsure what I would see–but knew that I wanted to see more.