Cracked Eggs, Commissary

I'm going to share with you a story that proves I have empathy. Yay!

Here it goes:

So many years ago, in high school, I used to work at this military supermarket as a bagger. I worked for tips. I worked off the books. I worked at a military commissary. Obviously, a lot of people would come in there in uniform. They would tip me. Some people would tip me 25 cents, some people tipped as big as 40 dollars, and my mother usually tipped 20 dollars when she would come and shop in the supermarket with me.

So one day, I bagged this woman's groceries and I knew her eggs were cracked. But she liked me because I was a cute young man. I was putting the groceries in her car. Making an honest living. She said, "Wow, you stocked these bags so beautifully in my car." And she tipped me 40 dollars. 

At that point, I was thinking to myself: Shoot! I know I cracked her eggs. Should I run in there and get some more eggs? Should I tell her? Or should I not tell her? In hindsight, I didn't tell her. I just let her drive home with cracked eggs. Knowing her eggs were cracked, she tipped me 40 dollars, and she went on her way. I felt guilty about it. Very guilty about it, actually.

I guess it's a good metaphor. I don't know if I ever shared this story before. However, sometimes, you'll know something is wrong - for example somebody with cracked eggs - you'll know there are problems in this situation. However, you don't intervene. you just take the 40-dollar tip. you say nothing. You feel guilty. But you don't actually intervene. And you just allow it to happen. I'm not really sure what that would be a metaphor for... But.