I handed a hungry woman a sandwich and lost my job on the spot. My manager called it theft, but I called it being human. Twenty-four hours later, I walked back into that café to beg for my job back, and found my former boss on his knees, begging that same woman for mercy.
Two weeks into my job at a trendy coffee shop, I still couldn’t navigate the register without breaking into a sweat.
I just wanted to keep my head down, collect a paycheck, and maybe sleep somewhere other than my friend Marcus’s couch before my back gave out completely.
But my colleague, Kylie, had other plans.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Amomama
“You forgot to restock the oat milk again,” she announced that morning, loudly enough that the three customers waiting in line all looked up from their phones.
I was mid-order, hand hovering over the register. “I was just about to—”
“It’s on the opening checklist.” She crossed her arms. “You’re supposed to follow that checklist every single day.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Amomama
“Right. Sorry.”
“‘Sorry’ doesn’t restock the oat milk.”
I wanted to tell her that customers were more important than oat milk, but I just nodded, finished the order, and went to get the stupid oat milk.
None of this was easy. I was 34 years old, crashing on my best friend’s couch, and working at a coffee shop where all my experience as a supply chain coordinator meant nothing.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Amomama
I had credentials and experience up the wazoo, but jobs in my field were hard to come by lately, and my child support payments were piling up.
So, here I was, exhausted, overqualified, and getting chewed out over oat milk by Kylie for $15.50 an hour.
I returned to the counter just as the bell above the door jingled. An elderly woman shuffled inside.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Amomama
Her coat was soaked through, and her sneakers were worn down to almost nothing. She moved slowly, like each step hurt. She bypassed the line entirely and came straight to the counter.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I just wondered if I could sit a while, and maybe get something to eat. I’m so hungry.”
Kylie hadn’t trained me for this! I didn’t know what to do, but then the slogan on our coffee cups caught my eye: Kindness Is Always on the Menu.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Amomama
We had leftover soup from yesterday’s batch, and a turkey sandwich that was probably going to get tossed, anyway.
My hand moved before my brain caught up, reaching for the wrap and ladle.
“What are you doing?”
Kylie appeared beside me so fast I almost dropped the soup container. Her eyes were sharp, accusing.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Amomama
Before I could reply, Kylie rounded on the woman, her voice shifting into that cold, corporate tone that makes my skin crawl.
“Ma’am, if you don’t have a method of payment, we can’t serve you. Company policy.”
The woman’s face crumpled. “Can I at least sit for a while?”
“This isn’t a shelter.” Kylie stepped around the counter. “You’ll have to leave.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Amomama
I watched as Kylie physically guided the woman toward the door, and something inside me snapped.
Maybe it was because I’d been on the edge of homelessness myself, or maybe I was just tired of being told to follow the rules when the rules felt completely wrong.
I grabbed the soup I’d already ladled into a to-go container, quickly wrapped the turkey sandwich, and followed them out.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Amomama
The rain hit me immediately, cold and accusing. I ran straight past Kylie and reached the older woman just before she crossed the street.
“Here you go, ma’am.” I held out the bag. “It’s not much, but it’s hot.”
She stared at me, her eyes filling with tears, and took the bag with trembling hands.
“You have a good heart, son.” She pressed her hand over mine briefly. “That’s rare these days.”
“Seriously?” Kylie’s voice sliced through the moment like a knife.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Amomama
I spun around to find her standing behind me, face twisted in disbelief.
“I’ll pay for it—”
“No! You didn’t log it, which means it’s theft.” She jerked her head toward the door. “Inside. Now.”
Back inside, Travis, the manager, was standing behind the counter with a thunderous expression.
“Where the hell were you two?” he yelled. “You left the counter unmanned!”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Amomama
