Priorities


After concluding a successful Nike event, I went to McDonald’s to grab a McFlurry. Standing in front of me at the checkout line was a teenage girl with ratty hair and a foul stench. She was holding a Starbucks paper cup and asked the guy behind the counter if he would please add some hot chocolate. The guy obliged and she sat down by herself. I watched as she opened a few containers of creamer. Looking closely at her face, I noticed a large scar from her upper lip to her nose – evidence of a former cleft lip.

I approached the girl and asked her what she’d like to eat. Slightly puzzled, she cheerfully responded “French fries.” I said, “anything else?” She quickly replied “hamburger.” From her slurred speech, it was apparent that she had some form of mental or physical disability.

So I went to the counter and ordered her a Big Mac meal and a side of chicken wings. I returned to the girl and placed the food in front of her. “Eat everything,” I told her. She looked at me as if it was Christmas morning. She humbly replied “Thank you. Thank you.”

I wished her a goodnight and left. On the way home I couldn’t stop thinking of the young girl.

To me, my top priority was making money and my family/gf happy. To her, it was how she was going to find her next meal or place to sleep. 


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