I allowed myself an extravagance recently: breakfast at a hotel. Where I live, hotels are not especially expensive, but when you live here you learn to value every real. So it is rare to go. That Saturday the atmosphere was calm — a few business guests, a couple passing through the city. Our hostess, a woman of around forty, was working alone. She moved with real agility, and at six o'clock exactly she announced that everything was ready. I took my time. I enjoyed it more than the occasion probably warranted. On my way to reception I crossed paths with her and said: "Hello, I'm Marcos. I wanted to say it was delicious — my day will be much better now." I left a tip as I went. She thanked me quickly and I left. I think often about what that costs and what it might be worth. When fatigue arrives for that woman, as it does for all of us, I suspect she will still give her best that day. Not because she expects a reward — there are no guarantees of that — but because somewhere there is a little more evidence that she is seen, noticed, and capable of making a difference. I learned to care about this entering adulthood. I have been an Uber driver, a waiter, a drinks seller at events, a bartender at party venues. I believe in a job well done, and I want the people around me to believe in it too. Not for the reward, because it does not always come. Not for recognition, because people are often absorbed in their own worlds. But for the pride in oneself that nobody can take or buy. I know attitudes like this are not common, and I know it partly because writing this brings the old familiar feeling that I might be misread. That same feeling is what makes most of us hesitate before acting this way at all. I am willing to risk being misread for the chance of influencing someone toward something I believe in. All the money in the world cannot buy true and sincere recognition.