Buy me a coffee?
Eddie wasn’t a man you’d notice. That’s not to say he wasn’t worth noticing, he just moved through life without much fanfare. The kind of fellow who held doors without expecting thanks, nodded at strangers without waiting for one back, and always returned shopping carts even when no one was watching. Your typical Tico, if you’ve ever been in Costa Rica.
He lived alone, by choice mostly, though life had a say in it too. He wasn’t bitter about it. He just kept things simple.
On one damp Tuesday morning, he wandered into a little café tucked beside a farmacia. The kind with hand-written chalkboard menus, a bell above the door, and regulars who knew each other’s dogs by name.
He didn’t go in for a coffee that day. Truth be told, his pension cheque was a day late hitting the account, and he was stretching the last couple bucks with more imagination than groceries.
He just wanted to sit somewhere while waiting for the rain to subside.
The girl behind the counter, maybe early twenties, was wiping down a table when she spotted him. “Damp morning,” she said.
Eddie smiled politely. “Sure is. Just here for the company, if that’s alright.”
She nodded. “Of course it is.”
A few minutes later, she brought over a coffee and a plate of Gallo Pinto alongside fried egg and fried plantains. She set them down gently in front of him.
Eddie blinked. “I didn’t order…”
“I know,” she interrupted. “It’s already paid for.”
He looked at her, confused.
She smiled. “Two weeks ago, you helped my grandfather when he fell outside the clinic next door. He said a man with a brown cap and a quiet voice stayed with him until help came. That was you, wasn’t it?”
Eddie shifted in his seat, embarrassed. “Didn’t think anyone noticed.”
“Well, he did. And so did I.”
She turned to go, then added over her shoulder, “Some people walk around making noise. Others leave ripples. The second kind matters more.”
Eddie sat there in silence, steam rising from the cup of Café Britt in front of him, feeling something he hadn’t felt in a long time: seen.
And all it took was a memory, a breakfast, and a kind soul who believed that good should circle back around. That’s Pura Vida!
Moral of the Story:
Being nice isn’t a strategy. It’s a signature. And long after you forget where you left it, someone else might still be holding on.
“Integrity is doing the right thing, even when no one is watching.”
~ C.S. Lewis
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