Am I Actually Nice?

When we walk into the ATM vestibule (one of those weird rooms that exists only as a way station to other places, like train stations or the gates at airports), this guy is frantically scribbling away on his check at the little table in front of the window on the street.

When he's done he stands a little off to the side, not exactly in line (which would be behind us, now) but just sort of off to one side, waiting for one of the ATMs to open up. When it does, I catch his eye and motion for him to take it - I'm not in a hurry - but I wonder at my own motivation: how much of my willingness to let him go is in order to avoid conflict, and how much is genuine kindness and generosity of spirit on my part.

I decide I'm really nice, but that, if I was in a hurry, I might not have let him go.