I popped to the shops today and found myself opposite McDonald’s. I have a quiet fondness for a Filet-O-Fish, though I hardly ever have one, years rather than months. So I went in.
I tried to use the ordering machine, but everything was geared towards meals, not a single sandwich. A member of staff noticed me hesitating and said gently, “Just go to the counter.” Something you can’t really do anymore, its all meant to be via the machines.
The woman serving me was calm, well-spoken, and quietly competent. She told me that with the app it would only be 99p. I couldn’t get my app to work, so she ordered it for me. When I went to pay, she simply said, “It’s already covered.”
As I waited, I watched the pace they all worked at. Fast, relentless, and entirely normal for them. I realised I couldn’t do that kind of job now, and I wondered how anyone older would manage that level of constant motion.
When my food was ready, I thanked her again. I wanted to do something in return, but I no longer carry cash. I gave her one of my business cards and said, “I used to do career coaching. If you ever want any of my booklets or guidance, drop me a line.”
She looked at the card and said, “You’re a psychologist. I’ve just graduated with a psychology degree.”
What a lovely moment of human exchange, her small act of kindness and my offer of support crossing paths by chance.
And yes, the Fillet-O-Fish was as good as I remembered.
About This Reflection
I’ve begun sharing more of the small, real moments that shape my days, the encounters, observations and shifts that often pass unnoticed but say something about how we live, age and pay attention. They’re not polished articles, just short pieces of writing that track what it feels like to move through later life with curiosity and care. Posting them here means they don’t disappear into the quick churn of social media. They become part of my record, a quieter archive of noticing, reflection and everyday humanity.
