It was a searing hot afternoon such that taking a plunge into McDonalds would have been refreshing like taking a bath in a cool pool of water.
In the roller-skates, I stood at the front counter and carried on with the daily lunch rush, fries flinging this way and that, kids hishing and oshishing all over, and the ice cream machine crying out under the stress.
By 2.30 mess had been restored. This is when I saw an older man sitting alone on the other corner. He sat, crumpled in a wheelchair, staring at a skid-marked soft-serve cone in front of him, as though that soft-serve had subjugated him. Customers would look and turn away, as though it were nothing to look at him.
There was something in the scene that caused me to hesitate. I snatched some napkins and came to his table.
You need any help? I was asking, without knowing just how I would be answered. Unaccountably enough, he nodded very slowly.
To give an example.
I sat down and rubbed out the glue-y glop and helped balance the new cone so that he could get cautious bites without it oozing everywhere. It took substantially less than ten minutes, which amounted to a blip in my break. It nevertheless seemed the right thing to do.
When I rose to go, however, I felt a curious change in the room.
One of the women by the window bent forward to speak to her companion meanwhile casting glances towards me. One of our constant consumers gave us a curious eyebrow. Even Luis my shift manager looked at me like I had violated some unspoken rule.
I did not like the response and ignored it until a few minutes before my shift was over. Luis dragged me by the back.
Slowly he rolled off the clock, speaking low but firmly: Hey, now, next time, see what you can do about it out of working hours.
It had surprised me. What do you mean?
One of the drive-thru people had popped in before he could finish explaining. “Hey, there is someone out here looking for you. By name.”
Curious and in a mix of feelings, I went outside, half mirroring the possibility of having an acquainted customer.
It was no one I was familiar with, however.
By the door a woman stood sharp eyed and serious. Do you know who that man is, maam? asked she.
It was blazing down the sun and my guard rose. No, I answered. But he was in need and that was the only thing that concerned me.
She heaved a sigh; she was torn. This is not that you did the wrong thing. Act… take care. He has been loafing here years. His name is Alfred. Others maintain that he is a troublemaker. Keep your distance, pal, keep it safe.”
Her voice was sincerely concerned, and yet I heard the sort of misty judgment which is in hearsay. Thanks! Just a caution notice, you see, I said, carefully. However, I believe I will go by my intuition.
She said nothing, turned and walked off. I hesitated there a little, between wonder and bewilderment. Everybody appeared to have an opinion concerning Alfred and none of them had bothered to engage him in a conversation.
Later that night right before I clocked out, I told Luis I did not feel I had done something inappropriate.
He shrugged half and put his arm on the counter.
You are a good workman, he said. I would simply hate you to come into a big mess of some kind. The management is large on boundaries. Just be careful ok?”
I understood his point of view–the responsibility, the chance to get into embarrassing situations. However, that seemed odd to me. When did assisting an old man with an ice cream cone become a dangerous thing to do?
Next day I arrived on evening shift, about four o clock. There he was again,–Alfred,–and at another table； his hands trembling like dry leaves; holding a small coffee cup.
A moment passed in hesitation at what Luis had said. However, my interest prevailed over me. I crept over to take a look, not knowing what I would see–but determined I was going to learn.
