“I drive an hour to that restaurant every Tuesday. It’s the highlight of my week,” Dumple said, gripping the rim of his tattered green fishing cap. “And between my dead-end job, and my wife leaving me recently, and my mother forgetting my birthday last week, I could have used a victory. I really … I just needed this towel, you know?”

After 5 minutes of furious waving, Dumple’s hands were air dried, so he washed them again and resumed his efforts.

“A few times I thought I heard it whir, like it was going to give me a towel,” he said, “but that’s probably just a noise it makes. Or it was growling at me, like my neighbor’s dog does whenever I come home.”

A half-hour and five more hand-washings later, Dumple sought help from a member of the wait staff, but had trouble attracting their attention.

“They’re all pretty busy, I guess,” Dumple said, his coke-bottle glasses starting to get foggy. “That TGI Friday’s really gets hopping on Tuesday nights. What with the video trivia. I never know the answers, but it’s fun to play along in my head.”

Feeling defeated, Dumple returned to his table to find his food had been cleared, and a family of five had taken his place.

“They hadn’t even left me a bill. It was like they completely forgot I was there. So I just walked out.”

On his way out the door, the hostess wished Dumple a good night.

“It was the nicest thing anyone had said to me in a while,” Dumple smiled. “I’ll probably be leaning on that for the next month or so.”