The man walking in front of me down the narrow hotel corridor was going so slow. And it was breakfast time. I’m in a hurry in the morning; there’s much to do.
But then I saw his left leg drag a bit and noticed how his left arm dangled compared to the right, and it became obvious: he’s had a stroke. I slowed down and admired him. He was fighting to get to the breakfast area in a way I didn’t have to think about.
He was, of course, ahead of me in the breakfast line. The metal pan holding the bacon was about half full, but he picked up ninety percent of it and dropped it on his plate. My first thought was, “No way a man can eat that much bacon and live to be his age,” but my second, more informed and empathetic thought was, “He probably can’t manipulate the serving tongs to get less.”
He stepped back from the buffet line and promptly dropped all the bacon on the floor, along with his coffee. The line stopped. I helped him clean up as much as I could, but he didn’t want me to throw away the bacon that fell on the floor. Okay. Was he just trying to be considerate of the cost? Embarrassed and wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible? Who knows?
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