McPaying It Forward
Anonymous Giving at the Drive-Thru
Paying for the meal of the car behind me at the McDonald’s drive-thru is about the smallest gesture of pay-it-forward generosity that I can think of. Yet it had never occurred to me to surprise anyone with this little gift until someone did it for me.
I remember my confusion at the first window as the cashier explained to me that the preceding driver had paid for my #9 combo and iced coffee. At first I thought she was telling me there had been a mistake — that he had been charged twice accidentally. That’s odd, I thought, as I continued to offer her my credit card. She shook her head and explained again, and I finally understood that she was relaying an intended gift.
I flushed, stuttered an awkward thank you, and turned my eyes curiously toward the black pickup truck in front of me. I timidly released the brake to roll forward toward my anonymous benefactor. I had never encountered this situation before and was at a loss for etiquette. Should I flash my headlights or wave in acknowledgment? Was I expected to stop and pay for the driver behind me, to pass on the goodwill? Before I could decide what to do, the pickup truck pulled forward, turned left around the indoor play area, and was gone.
I accepted my free breakfast from the unknowing clerk at the second window and thought about nothing else as I drove to work. I chatted with my husband about it later that day. “Was the driver flirting with me?” I asked, still confused. “Or trying to compliment my car?”
A bit amused, my husband patiently explained to me that it was not so personal. I finally got it. It was a random act of kindness.
And it fascinated me. The one-way nature of it. The complete absence of any return obligation. The impossibility of reciprocity. The brevity of the connection — forever over as soon as that pickup disappeared from my view.
Naturally, I had to know how it felt on the other side. A week later, back at McDonald’s (don’t judge me), I watch as a dirty red sedan pulls up behind me, and my stomach flips with excitement. A different cashier greets me: “Your total is $2.19.” Nervously, I extend my credit card and tell her that I’d like to pay for the driver behind me as well.
She melts in admiration. “That is sooo nice!” She briefly confers with a coworker about running my card twice. She comes back to the window and reports, apologetically, “she ordered a Filet-O-Fish sandwich.” The total is over $8. I suppose it’s an extravagant sandwich for this particular establishment.
“It’s fine,” I say, nodding to her to run my card.
“This is just so nice of you,” she reiterates, gleaming.
I drive forward to the second window, stealthily eyeing my rearview mirror to watch the news conveyed behind me. I don’t know what’s said. I do see the red car pull forward without exchanging cash or credit. My heart is pounding. She waves. I wave back.
I grab my iced coffee from the second window and pull away, acutely aware of the moment that I’m out of sight, acknowledging the disconnection. It solidifies my lack of expectation from her, and returns me to anonymity. I feel energized, magnanimous, and childishly sneaky all at the same time.
The second time I pay it forward, my cashier is not quite so impressed. “You’ll have to pay for that in two transactions,” she dryly informs me. I pay in cash this time. She hands me my change and receipt; I return the $5 bill she just gave me and get another clump of change and another receipt. The hassle doesn’t faze me. My adrenaline is surging. This time my meal is ready so quickly at the next window that I fly through, barely time for a backward glance. I hit the gas and turn the corner without waving. I am gone; what impression is left behind in the next car I can only guess.
The rational part of my brain tells me that I can do better with my five (or eight) dollars than buying a fish sandwich for an able stranger. I could donate this cash to a reputable charity, contribute to a child’s college fund, or plant a tree. But every now and then, I am still drawn to this frivolous expenditure.
It’s not because I think my unsuspecting recipient will put their extra cash to good use. After all, I never gave a thought to the $5 that the pickup truck driver saved me. That wasn’t the point. What I did think about was the spirit of the gift, the surge it gave me, and the simple fun of the game. Maybe that’s why I play. I have to think that the contagious good cheer of the gesture is worth a lot more than the $5 it costs.
