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Paul pulled up to the window and opened his wallet. The cashier leaned out. “Sir, the car in front of you paid for you.”
He gripped the cash in his hand. “We had $30 worth of food.”
The cashier smiled. “They said, pay it forward. Here are your drinks.”
Paul took his order absently. The car that had been in front of him was turning, a white Toyota. He tried to catch the license plate number but couldn’t. It looked like a young man driving.
“That’s everything, sir,” the cashier said. “You want any extra sauces?”
Paul rolled up the window and sped forward, the kids screaming in the back that they wanted their food. “Just a second,” he snapped. The main road was a solid stream of cars. He couldn’t get out. He’d lost the Toyota.
He returned to McDonald’s the next morning.
“How can I help you?” the young man asked, obviously not interested in the answer.
“Who was working the drive-thru last night between six and seven?”
“Um…I don’t know. I only work weekend mornings.”
“Can you find out for me?”
The young man stared at him, and Paul met his stare. “I’ll go ask,” he finally said.
Paul couldn’t get a phone number from the manager, but he got a name, Maggie Slotter, and an assurance that she was scheduled for tomorrow evening.
Paul’s wife did not understand his obsession. “What’s the big deal? Some stranger was nice. Be grateful and move on.”
“I can’t move on. Not yet.”
“What are you going to do, pay him back?”
Paul scoffed. “I don’t want to insult him.”
“Could have fooled me.”
Next evening, he returned again to McDonald’s and managed to get a few minutes conversation with Maggie despite the busy hour. She was exceptionally good at multitasking. She took and filled orders, prepared a half dozen fries and four drinks, and made change while he questioned her.
“He comes most days,” she said. “Usually after the evening rush and gets a Diet Coke and an apple pie. That’s $2.13, if you want to pay for him.”
“I don’t.” He walked to his car and pulled it to the other side of the building to watch the drive-thru line. The white Toyota did not appear. Paul decided he would return tomorrow.
The next evening he waited again, on edge. The kindness had been unexpected. It had been inflicted on him without warning, and Paul had borne the weight of it for three days. To return payment was a sign of weakness, a sign that one could not bear the gift, but to do nothing was to admit one was weak as well. The situation enraged Paul. “How dare he,” he thought bitterly. “Without warning!”
Finally, the Toyota appeared. Paul observed closely to ensure this was the man. The profile was the same. As the Toyota pulled up to the last window, Paul got out of his car and tapped on the passenger side glass. The young man, just a teenager, turned, startled. Paul motioned for him to roll down the window.
“What is it?” the boy asked.
“Did you pay for a person’s meal three days ago?”
“Was that Friday?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah. I do it sometimes.”
“I would like to thank you.”
“Um…you’re welcome.”
“It was very generous of you to give your money freely to a stranger like that.”
The boy, nervous or embarrassed, kept looking away. “Someone did it for me once. I thought it was neat. I like doing it.”
Paul nodded understandingly. “Well, the pleasure is all mine. I am quite grateful for what you did. I wanted you to know that. Good night.”
Paul walked away, got in his car, and drove away, satisfied. Now, they were even.