Fast food confusion

We ended our Labor Day family gathering with a caravan to Little Rock where we went our separate ways. One caught a plane, another shared a ride back to college and a third drove back north to his apartment. We started later than we had planned. Traveling with a couple of toddlers insured we stopped to stretch frequently.
About noon, we pulled into a fast food place for a soda, a snack and a stretch. We weren’t thinking about eating much, but once inside the smells, menus and prices changed our plans.
“I’m going to get a combo to share with the kids.”
“I think I will get a hamburger,” another said. He pulled out of his wallet and headed for the counter.
“Do you want to split a combo with me?” my daughter asked. I shrugged an agreement.
“What did you say the price of the special was?” another asked. He counted his cash and decided he could afford a burger.
One by one they joined the queue of other customers. I held the baby and watched the little ones check out everything. One by one the big ones wandered back carr ying their drinks and folded plastic tents with the number of their order: 67, 70, 73, 77 and lined them up on the tiny tables.
We sipped sodas, shakes and ice water. The little ones reached for the napkin holder. Their mother was quicker. She grabbed it just right. The whole thing opened, spilling out a fan of napkins. We stuffed as many as we could back into the holder before the first tray of food arrived. That tray was followed quickly by another tray and another until all four number tents had been removed and the tiny tables were covered with trays, sandwiches, fries and drinks. I did not realize they had ordered so many combos. I picked up a fry and began sorting sandwiches.
Who got a hamburger? Cheeseburger? Roast beef sandwich? Children’s meal with toy? (I thought they were sharing a combo.) We opened, touched or tasted everything before we realized we had more than we had ordered.
Our summer fast food worker blew it off, “oh don’t worry about it. We’ve touched the food. They will just throw it away if we take it back.” Blessed with fast food and permission to eat it, we chowed down.
The fries were about gone when we overheard a customer complaining to a worker, “We didn’t get our meal.”
“Yes, you did. I filled the order and delivered it myself.” “We didn’t get it.”
A guilty silence descended over our table. “Don’t worry about it,” our experienced fast food person repeated.
But we did worry, so the expert gathered up the tickets, glanced at them quickly and figured out the problem. Two were labeled 67.
“They gave two customers the same number and gave us the only number tent.”
In a well-practiced manner, our former fast food worker went to the counter and efficiently cleared up the matter. The other customer got his money back and the food his family had ordered.
We left not sure whether we should feel guilty or blessed. For sure we left well fed from our stop to stretch and grab a quick snack.