It was one of those sweltering afternoons when the AC inside the McDonald’s felt like a gift. I was on shift, juggling the usual lunch chaos—orders flying in, kids laughing, ice cream machines doing their best to stay functional.
Around 2:30, once the rush slowed down, I noticed an older man sitting alone at a corner table. He was in a wheelchair, quietly staring at a soft-serve cone that had melted in his hands. Most customers passed by without a second glance. I’m not sure what made me stop, but I grabbed some napkins and headed over.
“Hey, can I help you with that?” I asked. He nodded.
I cleaned up the mess and held a new cone steady while he took careful bites. It only took about ten minutes, a small moment on an otherwise busy day.
As I stood to leave, I noticed a few customers glancing over, whispering. My shift manager, Luis, gave me a puzzled look. Later, before clocking out, he pulled me aside. “Try to keep stuff like that outside work hours,” he said. I was surprised—helping someone felt like the right thing to do.
Before I could ask more, a customer approached me outside. She’d been watching and had something to say: “You don’t know who that man is, do you?”
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