He Who Has Eyes

It was a hectic Friday afternoon and Ches barely had time to grab a bite before driving out of town for his appointment.The Harvey’s restaurant chosen had been a pleasant stop for family in the past and he had been drawn toward it en route. What to order on that hamburg so that it would not be too sloppy for eating on the run?

Ches took note of the chatty male attendant at the cash register and his pleasant approach to customers in line, and the rapport which he had apparently with cooking staff to the rear. Only one more customer ahead and Ches could grab and go.
Then suddenly the elderly man turned away from the counter, dark sunglasses, cane in the right hand, tray delicately balanced in the left.

Sploosh! The tall beverage on the tray slid, the fries headed for the floor and the burger to follow. Counter-man was non-plused. Marj, obviously a senior staffer, came to the fore, “Oh, it’s Harry. He’s a regular here. He usually gets help to his table. Honey, I’m sorry we missed you this time. Don’t worry about the mess. It’s really our fault. We’ll bring another.”

Ches could not see through the elder’s dark glasses, but the rest of the face showed that the old-timer was ashamed. Ches was ashamed.

The counter guy was on to chatting up the next customer with the same small-talk. Marj, unintentionally, had taught a lesson of no small consequence. These men, sometimes….


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Married and father of two. Living in Waterloo, Ontario. Workplace health and safety professional. Blogger. Poet. Nature hiker. History buff. Inspirational writer. Newsboy for Jesus.

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