Like everyone had silently agreed that the moment mattered, and that maybe it did not have to vanish the way most ugly public moments vanish.
“I’m posting it. Now.”
The nurse looked at me, almost panicked. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said.
She swallowed.
“You didn’t. You came here to do a good thing, and he turned it into a spectacle,” I told her. “That’s on him. And whatever happens next because of the way he behaved today, that’s just karma.”
For a second, she could not answer. Then she nodded once.
The cashier cleared her throat. “Do you need another can of formula for your friend?”
The young woman looked startled. “What?”
“That’s just karma.”
The cashier glanced under the counter, then at the shelf behind her.
“We keep some overstock by the register. Same formula. My employee discount won’t cover much, but…” She shrugged. “It’ll cover something.”
The young mother with the toddler said, “I’ll cover the next one.”
The HR man held up a hand. “I’ll take the third, and…” he reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a business card. “Tell your friend to contact me. I’ll see what I can do to help her.”
The nurse stared at the card like it might vanish. “You would do that?”
He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a business card.
He smiled. “Yes. Mr. ‘Family Values’ should practice what he preaches.”
The nurse looked like she might actually collapse now, but for a better reason.
“Please,” she said, voice shaking as she looked at the man from HR and everyone else standing by her, offering support. “You don’t have to do all that.”
“No,” I said. “But we can.”
“And, it’s posted!” The woman in the adjacent queue held up her phone. “He walked out of here like what he said meant nothing, but the internet might not agree.”
And how right she was.
“Mr. ‘Family Values’ should practice what he preaches.”
A few days later, I was at home in my recliner with a cup of coffee and the television on low — more for the background noise than because I was watching anything.
I was halfway through the crossword when I heard the name.
“Mr. Williams issued a public statement today…”
I looked up.
There he was on the screen, the cruel man from the grocery store. His suit was pressed, and his face was pinched with the strain of being publicly sorry.
I was halfway through the crossword when I heard the name.
The anchor continued, “…following a viral video showing CEO Mr. Williams confronting a customer in a local grocery store.”
They cut to the clip.
“If you can’t afford a baby…”
Then the clip ended, and the anchor came back on.
“…the company has announced an internal review of its employment practices after new allegations surfaced involving the termination of a pregnant employee.”
They rolled another clip. Williams stood at a podium this time, hands folded.
“New allegations surfaced involving the termination of a pregnant employee.”
“I take full responsibility,” Williams said stiffly. “We are reaching out to the former employee involved and will be offering financial support and reinstatement opportunities.”
I muted the television.
I sat back and took a slow sip of coffee.
That woman had been right — people weren’t taking what Williams did lightly. They certainly didn’t think it meant nothing.
Some things don’t stay buried under polished statements and careful suits. They follow you.
They certainly didn’t think it meant nothing.
