Witness to a Compassionate Act

Given only an hour for lunch, I hurried to the McDonalds outlet opposite my office. It was extremely crowded, as one would expect during the rush hour. The stench of the place hit me like an invisible wall as soon as I stepped over the threshold – fryer oil and freshly cooked meat made for that distinct smell that one could really get at only a fast food restaurant. Different people from all walks of life were crammed into that one small fast food joint, making me feel extremely claustrophobic as I manoeuvred my tray out of the queue and to a small table that had just been cleared up near the cashier.

The table was slick with grease and incredibly slimy, but I put my tray down nonetheless and listened to the crackling sounds of the paper as I subconsciously unwrapped the lime yellow paper protecting my burger. There was an incessant whine in the air as cashiers pressed buttons and oven bells sounded, the individual high-pitched squeals all melding into headache-inducing white noise.

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The constant chatter and babble of the people around me made it no better.

Three schoolgirls over in the farthest queue from me were gossiping so loudly that I now knew about the exploits of half the girls in their year and which girl had had an unfortunate accident on a school camp last year. A lone monk stood in the queue, his grey robes, shaven head and tan brown skin standing out amidst the sea of the colourfully and casually dressed that flowed all around him.

Across from the monk stood two people, Europeans from the looks of them, red in the face and shouldering backpacks that could have been twice their width.

I wondered if the people standing behind them could see anything apart from those rucksacks. In front of the backpackers, a lone woman who seemed so ordinary compared to all these other people was placing her order, pointing at various places above the waiter’s head so he had to crane his neck to see what she wanted. In the queue nearest to me, a mother was looking up at the menu while her son was caterwauling uncontrollably, pulling at her hand and demanding that he be given a Happy Meal.

Two businessmen were currently bringing up the rear, looking themselves over apprehensively every five seconds to make sure that no stray spot of grease had soiled their immaculate pin-striped suits. One of them was tapping his watch impatiently. A young boy with shaved sides and fluorescent green hair looked back at them and scoffed to himself before returning to check his mobile phone. In the midst of all this stood an incredibly bedraggled man with hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb or a pair of scissors since World War 2.

He was anxiously shuffling his feet, which were clad merely in sandals whose soles had nearly worn down to nothing. He was wearing what closely resembled a potato sack, with shoddily-made patches all over the shirt. A pungent smell drifted my way and I nearly gagged on my mouthful. Judging by the way that nobody in the queue was standing remotely close to him, I presumed that he was the source of what now permeated my peaceful lunchtime. As the mother and her still-bawling son exited the queue, she gave the man a condescending look out of the corner of her eye and pushed her son to her other side so that he would not be near him.

He did not notice any of this, though, and instead moved in front to place his order. The waitress on duty gave him a patronizing smile as she did all her other clients, and proceeded to put on an attentive expression while he shakily lifted one arm and pointed to the cheapest possible burger on the menu. This deterred the waitress slightly – her smile flickered for a split second – but she punched in his order nonetheless. When she pointed to the luminous green figure on the cash register’s screen, he reached into his raggedy trouser pocket and pulled out a few measly coins, offering them to her.

The waitress’ customary smile faltered and died altogether, replaced by a quizzical turn of the mouth and a flash of discontent in her eyes. However, she recovered quickly with the grace of a diplomat, smiling once again as she reached out to push away his hand. A hush fell over the room. All eyes swivelled to the waitress and the man. If she was aware of this attention, she did not show it. Instead, she placed a few dollar bills from her pocket into the cashier tills and pushed his tray towards him as if to prompt him to take it. That smile appeared once again, this time accompanied with a cheery, “Enjoy your meal. The man was taken aback. He did not move for a few seconds, possibly trying to process all that had just transpired. Then slowly, he took the tray with trembling hands and muttered something inaudible. His eyes were fixed on the ground as if in demure submission. The waitress just nodded at him and looked to the punk in the back to take his order, while the man slunk away to an obscure corner of the McDonalds to eat his burger. Nobody moved. The inside of the McDonalds had become a movie freeze frame, waiting for someone to press play and jolt the characters back into action.

I took this opportunity to start clapping, slowly but steadily. A few people immediately shot me dagger stares, but the businessman who had been tapping his watch earlier nodded approvingly and began to clap as well. Soon, the whole restaurant had joined in this thundering chorus of applause for the waitress. She herself did not seem flattered so much as overwhelmed, her mouth opening and shutting as she tried to settle on a course of action. A door opened behind her as the manager stormed out, inquiring angrily as to why everyone was making such a ruckus. One of the staff by the fryer responded, and his face softened.

Gruffly patting her on the back, he then made his way back into the office after shouting, “But get this under control! ” People were still clapping, although the applause had mostly faded. The waitress seemed to inhale deeply before letting out a huge “Excuse me! ” This stopped the noise altogether, but silence in a fast food restaurant was not the miracle everybody was appreciating right then. The waitress was the centre of attention once again, as if she was about to give a speech on moral rights or justify her actions. However, she just flashed that picture-perfect smile again and said, “Next, please. ”