As I was driving home, my wife (who works at home) texted that she had a migraine headache and didn’t feel like cooking or going out to eat. She asked if I could stop at a restaurant and pick something up. I suggested a premium burger place, so I headed straight there.

At the counter, I ordered her sandwich and mine. As the clerk entered the order, she asked:

Clerk: “Military or first-responder discount?”

Me: “Sorry, no.”

I held up my school badge.

Me: “How about for teachers?”

Clerk: “Works for me!”

She then gives me a 15% discount on my order. It’s nice to be appreciated!

I got hired at a bar and restaurant with a dance floor. I usually had the early shift (16:00 – 24:00), and I often arrived early, but the quiet dishwasher (let’s call him Simon) was always there before me. I soon realized he also left after me when I had the later shift (21:00 – 05:00). 

One day, I got there way outside of opening hours to pick up my jacket, and I found Simon dressed in comfy clothes, rummaging through the fridge. I asked what he was doing, and he didn’t answer but looked very guilty. Since we had lost some expensive food and wine recently, I naturally suspected Simon. 

The next shift, I approached my boss; he was the older brother of the owner. The owner managed another place in town; since this place was up and running, he rarely came by anymore. He did hiring, taxes, and stuff. My boss was quite lazy and didn’t manage much, but we didn’t need much managing anyway. He usually did something meaningless to look busy.

Me: “Hey, I have to tell you something.”

Boss: “Not now, [Not My Name], run off and play.”

Me: “I’m [My Name].”

Boss: “Whatever, [Mean, rhyming nickname], I’m busy.”

Me: “That’s not my name, but seriously. It’s about…”

A senior bartender tapped on my shoulder.

Bartender: “Hey, I need help switching a keg.”

Me: “Can it wait?”

Bartender: “No, come along.”

Boss: “Yeah, stop being lazy. Do some work!”

We went to the bar; our boss kept doing nothing. The kegs didn’t need switching.

Bartender: *Quietly.* “So, you noticed something about Simon?”

Me: *Matching his tone.* “Yes? He was here outside of reasonable hours, rummaged through the fridge, and looked guilty. It was really weird.”

Bartender: “He told me you found him here. He lives here. For the moment.”

Me: “What? Why?”

Bartender: “He’s homeless, for about four more months. He needed help, so we helped him.”

Me: “Okay?”

Bartender: “Simon had to flee his psycho girlfriend in the dead of night. She assaulted him for not buying her flowers; I saw the bruises. She trashed all his stuff, tossed his cat out on the street, filed a false police report against him… He found the cat, and it lives with [Chef]. And the cops didn’t buy her story. Anyway. Our boss laughed and called Simon a wimp, said he deserved to live on the street. Said the rain and snow would wash the shame away.”

Me: “How awful!”

Bartender: “Yes. Simon has no relatives and no friends besides us, so we had to help. Social housing takes a long time to get.”

Me: “Of course we should help, but why does he have to live here?”

Bartender: “We tried helping him by letting him couch surf. Simon is… well, very autistic. He is very, hmm, peculiar to live with. It really, really didn’t work, and we really tried. Then we realized that this place is empty during the day and [Boss] never gets here early.”

Me: “Wouldn’t [Boss] help someone in real need? This is a real emergency!”

Bartender: “Our boss thinks poor people deserve to be poor and the homeless should have a better work ethic. And our dear boss thinks Simon should work somewhere else and be less weird, despite being the best god-d*** dishwasher in the kingdom. Now, living here is illegal, I think. At least not allowed.”

Me: “Oh. That would make it easy to get rid of him.”

Bartender: “Indeed. Social housing takes a while, but Simon will get an apartment in four months. There is a known date. Since this is constrained by time, we thought that this was a decent emergency solution.”

Me: “I understand. I’ll keep the secret.”

Bartender: “Good man. Most people here know, and we help keep our dear boss in the dark. But we still try to keep the conspiracy small.”

I passed through the kitchen and found Simon. He looked at me with real fear.

Me: “Simon. [Bartender] told me your story. I’m sorry that I scared you.”

Simon: “I was not able to tell you what I was doing.”

Me: “No, I understand. The secret is safe with me. I want to help you; no one should be on the street.”

Simon looked relieved and happy and gave my shoulder an awkward squeeze.

Me: “I just must ask, what were you doing in the fridge?”

Simon: “Look.”

He showed me the fridge. There was a shelf at the bottom with some common groceries that we didn’t use for cooking.

Simon: “My food. I bought it. I eat it.”

Me: “I see. Sorry for suspecting you.”

Simon (and his cat) was relocated to a municipal apartment four months later, just as planned. Simon still works here and still does an impeccable job, but our boss doesn’t. You see, our dear boss had decided that he deserved to take fancy wine and food to impress his latest girlfriend. When his wife and his younger brother found out, he lost his job, his marriage, and the girlfriend.

We are now managed by the bartender.

My insurance company’s Call A Nurse recommended I go to the ER (urgent care was closed) for a reason that’s irrelevant here. I took only my ID and my insurance card. The ER visit didn’t go well; they made me feel stupid for going for something they thought was minor, even though I said the insurance said to go.

I got out of the ER and decided I needed ice cream to feel better. I went straight to the grocery store, picked up ice cream and three other items to make a sandwich, too.

I went through self-checkout; the total came to $16, and I suddenly realized I had no money to pay. It was absolutely my fault for not paying attention to what I was doing. In my defense, I was in pain and angry/depressed about how I’d been treated at the ER, and it was late (after 10 PM).

I called the store clerk to cancel the order. He came, didn’t say a word, flashed his card, punched a bunch of buttons to put it back to the payment page, and turned to leave before I could say a word. I called him back and said it needed to be cancelled. He sneered, rolled his eyes, and said I hadn’t told him that. I said he hadn’t given me a chance. He cancelled and walked away. 

I admit I was a bit teary-eyed at this point; it was a rotten day. I started to walk away when the lady at the self-checkout beside me asked:

Self-Checkout Customer: “Do you need any help?”

Me: “I picked up a few things before realizing I didn’t have any money with me.”

Self-Checkout Customer: “Let me pay.”

Me: “No, it’s my fault.”

She insisted, and I caved. I probably shouldn’t have, but it wasn’t a lot of money, and I just wanted a sandwich and some ice cream. I thanked her over and over. And, yes, I very much enjoyed my sandwich and my ice cream.

Dear Lady at the grocery store, thank you so much for helping me out on a day that had been so bad up to then. I’ll pay it forward when I can.

I used to work in a library, back when children would need books for homework and school projects, and not the Internet. A mom and her young son come in and ask me to show them all the books on space and the solar system.

I’m going through a few books for them when the mom asks:

Mom: “Do any of these books explain why the sun gets less bright at night?”

Me: “Uh… what do you mean, ma’am?”

Mom: “Well, as everyone knows, the moon and the sun are the same thing; it’s just not as bright in the nighttime. Why?”

Me: “Ma’am, the moon and sun are very much different things.”

Mom: “They are?”

Son: “Mom, you’ve seen them both in the sky at the same time! How do you explain that?”

Mom: “Diffraction?”

Son: “Mom, you think the sun and the moon are the same thing, but you know what diffraction means?”

The mom looks confused. The young son turns to me.

Son: “We’re fine from here, thanks. I’m going to go over a few things with my mom.”

I left them to it, and when they were checking out some books a half hour later, the mom was brimming with questions directed at her son. It was adorable!

Had a reservation for six the other night. Three couples in their fifties to sixties… or so I thought. Only five people showed.

While I’m taking drink orders, one of the guests casually drops that the missing guy had just broken up with his partner… like, that day. And the single guy sitting there was him. So now it’s basically two couples and one freshly single dude in a pretty obvious bad mood.

His friends were trying to cheer him up (pointing out stuff in the restaurant, making random small talk), but he was still in “I’m not here for this” mode.

Once I knew what was going on, I just made a point of keeping it light whenever I went over. No sad eyes, no “are you okay?” crap. Just normal banter, little jokes, and trying to make the whole thing feel like a group hang, not “two couples plus the sad guy.”

By the time dessert (and a couple beers) rolled around, he was actually laughing with the rest of them. On the way out, one of the women told me: “Thanks for keeping the night fun; he needed it.”

Not exactly in the job description, but hey, sometimes you’re serving food, sometimes you’re serving morale.