One of the things about working fast-food is that one has a lot of opportunities to reach out to people. I usually do this by talking to them at the cash register, but sometimes the people come to me or I come to them.
Once, when I was on break, an old man (that looked like he might have ridden a motorcycle) wearing a bandanna came and asked if he could sit down in front of me. I said "sure," thinking that I only had about 5 more minutes on break anyway, so what was the harm in giving an old man some company?
We started talking and I asked him what had made him want to have a gravy bistcuit today. Nothing could have prepared me for his answer, which was that it was his favorite food before his chemo therapy started, and he was hoping it wouldn't come back up. He explained to me that the doctors had given him an expiration date 2 months from then and he wanted to enjoy life a little before he died. I was almost struck speechless, but I had two more minutes left on break, and said the only thing I could "Everyone has an expiration date, you just might have a vague idea of where yours is, for all I know, I could be hit by a truck tomorrow and you could outlive me." He accepts this and my break is over, but I tell him I am sorry but I have to go back to work. He bids me goodbye, and I'm haunted by this all day.
4 months later I see him at Bojangles again, I ask him "isn't it past your expiration date?" He looks over at me and explains that his last tumor was benign, so no more expiration date. I am overjoyed.
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