We will cross the bridge when we get there, they say. Usually a phrase saved for people who worry about things ahead of time, interchanging it with preparation, planning, or cautiousness.
This morning at the McDonald’s in this city, one of the only places that would open at 8am, I nearly slipped on the waxed floor of the entrance, something that would worry anybody in the U.S., especially a business if they care about going bankrupt over a lawsuit. So I sat there, with a clear view of the entrance as I waited for the counters to open because they weren’t ready to take orders yet, I saw an old man enter the establishment, his left foot moving a few inches forward when it wasn’t supposed to.
He walked straight up to the closed counter and waited for an employee to rush toward him, telling him that they were about to open, when he said that the entrance was slippery. The woman behind the register simply said that it happens when it rains.
The old man smiled and told her that they should use a different type of oil for tile floors. The confused woman looked back and said yes.
You don’t use oil for tiles. He looked at me, I smiled with my eyes. He added a few wrinkles to the edges of his and walked to a table that seemed just for him and his newspaper, straight across the restaurant from where I was sitting. We both waited for someone else to enter, hoping that they wouldn’t slip and hoping that someone would do something about it.