Hesitation

What made me hesitate? Three times. How hard is it to ask someone if they’d like to you get them a cup of coffee and donut? I mean he definitely looked like he needed it, his skinny bird fame perched high on one of the bar stools on the food side of the convenience store—a young black kid was behind the counter, wiping down the stainless steel. 

I stepped out of line and began walking toward the man, a wool hat pulled down over his eyes, gray dirty hair and beard, clothes, hands stained with dirt folded in front of him on the narrow table top. But then I became suddenly self-conscious and stopped. What if offended him? Who am I to go offering complete strangers coffee and donuts? What if he made a fuss and my fellow convenience store shoppers became irritated with me stirring him up?

The second time I stepped out of line was to see if I could get a glimpse of his face without appearing obvious. Then I felt like he caught me staring and I jumped back in line, yet again. I noticed he was now clutching a dirty t-shirt like a security blanket. 

I am happy to say the third time I stepped out of line, I actually went over and asked the gentleman as politely as I could if I could get him some coffee and a donut, pastries, whatever. He was not at all offended or embarrassed by my offer: “No, thank you. I’d prefer a dollar if you have it.” 

He followed me outside where I retrieved a dollar from the center console. “Just having to get a start over in his business,” he stuttered and then the “business,” as he explained it to me was a few things muddled together—a hotdog-oil change-tire-cleaning shop. Then he stooped down to demonstrate, wiping out the rim of my tire with the dirty t-shirt.

I was in a hurry and stopped him from demonstrating, wishing him the best of luck in his endeavors.

In parting, he apologized: “I mean I didn’t study any marketing or anything like that.”