Old Lady
By Ron Schmidt

The snow fell softly, hardly making it to the ground before it melted, as I rolled the mighty GS out of the garage. As usual, it was ready to go. I, however, needed some quick breakfast before heading into work.

She pushed her way through the twin doors into the urban McDonald’s ahead of me.

The counter was empty; a smiling young employee greeted her with his trained “what can I get for you today, Ma’am?”

I was the only other person in line. Already thinking ahead to my planned and busy day, I barely noticed her. She was just another person in another line.

My consciousness of her came shortly after that, when I heard her speak loudly to the young man, in a way that people with poor hearing often do.

I missed what food she had ordered in my foggy early morning daze, but I did hear her clearly order her coffee thusly:

“Young man, I want a senior’s coffee. I want it to be ½ hot water and ½ coffee because you make the coffee too strong.” The way she stated it sounded like a personal insult to the youngster, as if he had any control over how McDonald’s coffee was made.

It was then that I really noticed Old Lady. She was a tiny, shriveled, black woman, could have been 80 or 106 years old. Her hair was a light purple red. She was slightly stooped. Her face was wrinkled and world-weary. The skin of her beautiful hands had that almost see-through quality of the very old. She wore a very bright long dress of African print. Her glasses were dark rimmed and thick. And, she knew exactly how she wanted her coffee!

Young Man was the only help at the counter; but I noticed the owner-operator of the restaurant. I had spoken to her on occasion, sharing the stories of self-employment and small business ownership. She was a charger, to be sure, owns 5 McDonald’s restaurants in our city. I saw her look over and notice Old Lady at the counter. She rapidly retreated to the depths of the cooking area where she could not be seen. Had she and Old Lady met before?

I glanced behind me and noticed that there were now 5 people in line.

Young Man galloped to the cooking area and moments later returned with ½ cup of hot water. “Ma’am,” he spoke to Old Lady,” is this the right amount of coffee?” as he poured the hot black liquid into her cup.

“ No, a bit more” she responded loudly; then, “Stop now, that is good.”

Young Man stopped pouring, put the lid on the cup and carefully slid the cup over to Old Lady.

There were 10 people in line now.

“I’ll need two Splenda sweeteners in the coffee.” Not only did she know how she wanted her coffee brewed, she knew how she wanted it sweetened. Young Man handed her 2 yellow packets of sweetener.

“Are you not going to put them in for me?” she asked incredulously of Young Man.

“Oh, yes ma’am, I will.” he responded with professional cheerfulness as he removed the lid from the coffee and poured the contents of the 2 packages into the cup.

There were now 12 people in line.

“Ma’am, that will be $2.92 please” stated Young Man, who was suddenly aware of the growing line.

“NO! It is $2.42” growled Old Lady.

“Ma’am, please, it really is $2.92. Look right here on the screen” he pleaded, no doubt wishing he had taken his other job opportunity digging pipeline ditches in the snow and dirt.

“How much did you charge me for the senior’s coffee, young man?”

“Seventy nine cents, ma’am. It is regularly a dollar twenty-nine, but for seniors it is only seventy-nine cents” he said, no doubt figuring that this explanation would ward off any resistance.

“But what you gave me is ½ WATER!” she bemoaned……………

I watched Young Man’s eyes glaze over. He was balancing many issues here. McDonald’s corporate pricing structure. The now 15 restless and impatient people in his line. Why did his boss disappear? Why was he the only one on the counter? His job was in the balance. He wanted to be with his girlfriend, or better yet, his mommy.

The line was now becoming interesting as well. There were two street people behind me who probably had no place in particular to go. It was warm here; the snow fell outside, but not on them. Let Old Lady go on as long as she pleased. There were other folks in line who were probably just like me; waiting to get a quick breakfast and then off to work. The line surely looked longer to them than it did to me, because I was the next to be served; they were deep in the line. There was one professional fellow, donning his three-piece suit and tie costume, looking repeatedly at his Rolex, almost pacing. He was late. Even worse, he would have to make up a lie to explain why. I’m sure his peers would never be caught at McDonald’s standing in line. Maybe in the drive-through in their Mercedes, where they could blame it on their kids, but never standing in line. There were also some black-trousered, white-shirted Mormon missionaries talking amongst themselves. Like the street people, they were unconcerned about the waste of time. They had about 2 years.

I reached into my wallet, took out a dollar bill, moved next to Old Lady and asked “Ma’am, may I pay for your coffee this morning?”

She beamed “Why yes, thank you so very much” in a voice sweet with southern drawl and age.

Young Man looked as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. I heard a bit of laughter from the line. Even Mr. Rolex seemed to lighten up a bit.

Old Lady then opened her breadbasket-sized purse. It was filled with perhaps 25 envelopes, all neatly in a row. She oh-so-slowly began looking through each one until she came to the one with the McDonald’s coupons in it. She deliberately peeled off 2 one-dollar coupons and handed them to Young Man, passing them right over the sign that read “If you are using coupons, please tell the cashier before you order.” Young Man looked pale.

In a move that showed his promise of one day owning his own McDonald’s, he took the initiative to just pass over corporate rules and get Old Lady on her way and out of his. He opened the cash drawer and retrieved 58 cents. He reached out to give Old Lady the change and the rest of her no-longer-hot meal. She stood resolutely with her hands down at her sides and barked to Young Man, “That is not my change. It belongs to him” as she pointed to me.

I took the change and ordered my breakfast, knowing that the rest of my day was going to be wonderful. I hoped Old Lady’s would be as well.