There was only one register open, but only one person in front of me, so I figured I’d make my show. I was looking up at the menu board, not paying much attention, when I heard a big clatter. Glancing back down at the register, my heart sank: The guy in front of me was homeless, and he’d just dumped his entire plastic cupful of change onto the counter.

He asked again about his total. “$5.68,” came the reply, and the man started counting out a seemingly endless line of pennies and nickels.

I shifted my weight, checked my watch, rolled my eyes — everything I could think of to speed up the process, or at least show my displeasure. When he finally pushed a mountain of coins across the counter, I made a move forward to place my own order.

But no. The woman at the register painstakingly re-counted every coin, oblivious to my very important schedule. I turned to glare at the man who was ruining my day, and what I got was a figurative slap in the face. Instead of sweeping the remaining coins back into his plastic cup, he picked them up one by one and deposited them into a container in front of the register. He must have donated at least 20 of his hard-earned coins to the Ronald McDonald House before he picked up his sack of food and shuffled away.

I didn’t know what to say, so of course I said nothing. But two hours later, as I emerged from my movie, I saw him sitting on the sidewalk outside the theater, a crumpled McDonald’s bag at his side. He barely acknowledged me when I stuffed a few bills into his cup, but that’s okay — he’ll be able to pay for his next meal a little faster, and I know the change will be put to good use.