Last week I ran into the Media City to use the toilet. I was desperate. Here in Belgium, you usually have to pay to go. 
When I searched my wallet, I didn’t have enough change. The man at the counter looked at me without sympathy and repeated, “40 cents” while pointing to the sign.

I looked him in the eye, took my change back and said, “OK. But I’m still going!” and ran past him into the stalls. I knew he wasn’t happy, but I HAD to go 

Today, I was in the same situation once again, and remembered what Jean had said before. “That’s how they make their living. Of course he was mad.” So I counted out my change, and made sure I had enough to pay twice, once for today and once for last time. 

The man wasn’t there this time, but his wife was. I think she might even have remembered me. “Bon jour, madame! Ici pout l’autre temps, ca va?” “Oui. Ca va,” she smiled. 

I felt good. We Americans aren’t cheapskates. At least everybody in the toilet room today realized that clearly ~
I could tell by how all of them were smiling.