I Served the Grumpiest Man in Town for Seven Years (Continued)

He was Mr. Halloran’s attorney. And he had come to read me something from the old man’s will.

It turned out Mr. Halloran had been a widower for thirty years, with no children and no family left living. That diner booth, and the young waitress who smiled at him every morning, had been the only warmth in his days — and he had noticed every single bit of it, even when he never let it show.

In his will, he had left me eleven thousand dollars and his late wife’s wedding ring. The letter with it said, in shaky handwriting: ‘You were kind to a mean old man who did not deserve it, every day, for years, and asked for nothing. You made me feel like a person again. This is the only way I know how to say thank you.’

I stood in the middle of the lunch rush and cried into my apron. All those mornings I thought I was talking to a wall, he had been listening. He had been grateful. He just never had the words while he was alive.

I don’t tell this story for the money, though heaven knows I needed it. I tell it because you never, ever know what a small kindness means to someone who seems to have nothing to give back. Be good to the grumpy ones. Sometimes they’re just people no one has smiled at in a very long time.