Seven across, light green. Five diagonal, white. Seven\u2014no eight\u2014across, dark green. That\u2019s a good find. But still, I search for that elusive nine. An imperfection, almost, a mistake.<\/p>\n
I study the patterns in the tiles on the restaurant wall and let my mind go quiet, slow, while the blue sky putters onto the dark concrete on the other side of the big window.<\/p>\n
When business is slow and David has run out of tasks to give me, I stand at the front counter and stack napkins into the crisp piles of three we put in customers’ bags. My body\u2019s memorized the motion and I\u2019ve found every across and diagonal on this wall before. I\u2019m sure David could order the napkins already separated, but then what excuse would he have to keep me around?<\/p>\n
The lights above me flutter out, again, and I lose track of my tiles. I call out for David with no response. Through the window I watch the manager of the cafe next door run into the sweeping downpour to close all their bench umbrellas, lest they get swept away with the wind. His big arms wrestle the rusty metal spindles into place.<\/p>\n
David must be on his break.<\/p>\n
The restaurant is often empty on days like this with the whole town cleared out for the holidays or is stuck indoors by winter storms. The kitchen is silent but for the bubbling oil of the fryers when I step back there. I don\u2019t like to be back there often with the heavy, watchfulness of the cooks.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know where David went? The lights are out again.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ignacio stands to my left, scrolling his phone by the freezer. The older cooks mostly talk amongst themselves, making jokes and leering at girls through the front window. They don\u2019t speak to me at all if they can help it.<\/p>\n
Ignacio throws a pointed look at the man whose name I don\u2019t know as dumping wings into the fryer. The frozen meat hits the heat like the sound of applause and the man snickers.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s in the storage.\u201d<\/p>\n
I take the umbrella by the door and make my way across the parking lot to a large metal shipping container where we store extra ranch powder and utensils. Only an inch of the door hangs open.<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus, close that.\u201d<\/p>\n
It\u2019s enclosed, dark, and the air stinks of dirty rain and weed smoke.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe lights are out again up front,\u201d I tell David. \u201cDo you have the key to the generator?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAh shit, yeah I place them down around here somewhere. Help me look.\u201d<\/p>\n
David knocks over a few boxes as he stands and curses. I use my phone flashlight to help fumble around in the dark, getting flashes of David\u2019s scruffy face screwed in concentration. The light deepens the lines on his forehead and around his eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey\u2019re here, by your head.\u201d David leans close as his arm reaches around my head towards a stack of boxes. I feel the presence of his mouth near my ear, his hot clammy breath smelling sharp and sour.<\/p>\n
Slowly, he backs away and hands me the key. I walk back with the umbrella by my side and enter the restaurant soaked.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Working somewhere as temporary and replaceable as a fast food restaurant, you can pick a new identity and try it on for a season. Liam, the other cashier who likes to start our mornings by telling me about his conquests the night before, is always loud and bubbly. He tells any customer who will listen about his new motorbike and his plans to go away for the summer, but won\u2019t say \u201chi\u201d when we pass on the street. I saw him once sitting alone at the cafe on his day off and wondered if his persona was just something he used to get through the day. Off work, his posture was curved in, like he was trying to hide himself, and he sat with his hands and arms blocking his face from view, just a moppy blond head. He was always alone.<\/p>\n
David goes by an entirely different name\u2013we saw it once on his time card plain as day\u2013Agustin Gomez. Liam asked him about it; he just likes David better. I wonder what David can do that Agustin cannot. We all have our ways of chameleoning.<\/p>\n
I become obedient, quiet. It\u2019s easier that way. I greet customers when they enter and take their orders in a soft voice two octaves above my own. I ask them how their day is going and say sorry often. I imagine where their lives will go as I watch them leave and walk down the street and go back to counting tiles on the wall.<\/p>\n
Off-shift I sometimes find myself responding to friends with an overly polite \u201cMy pleasure.\u201d or \u201cHave a great day!\u201d and wonder how I can possibly expect customers to treat me as human when I do not think of myself as such. When I clock in I become something outside myself.<\/p>\n
Today a girl slipped and hit her head on one of the cafe\u2019s metal benches. I see her and a group of girlfriends through the big glass window, stopping at the bench closest to our doors to check their bags. A middle aged woman in a long blue raincoat stands before me, deciding between fries and veggies sticks while the two in line behind her cross and recross their arms and tap their feet.<\/p>\n
\u201cHmm well.. are the carrots fresh?\u201d<\/p>\n
They come in freezer safe boxes that I dump into vats of ice water beside the fryer. David has me refresh the ice once a shift.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I tell her.<\/p>\n
Little beads of water race down her body, making small puddles at her feet. \u201cI\u2019ll take the fries. Large, well-done, with lemon pepper seasoning.\u201d<\/p>\n
I tap the order into the POS thoughtlessly, and wonder if years from now the layout of this menu will remain permanently imprinted on my brain. Then the woman squeals. I take a look behind her and a puddle of blood bleeds into the threshold.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh my god! Someone help her!\u201d<\/p>\n
I stare blankly at the girl, splayed on the concrete. Her friends surround her, shrieking as they lift her lifeless head. There\u2019s a gash on its side, just above her right eyebrow where she hit the bench.<\/p>\n
The machine spits out the woman\u2019s receipt in a slow chuga-chuga-choo that I rip from its mouth.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019ll be about a 15 minute wait. Next?\u201d<\/p>\n
By the time David returns from his break crowds of people are surrounding the girl and two ambulances skid down the street.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou think he\u2019ll let us go home?\u201d Liam\u2019s hand grazes my leg as he grabs a soda from the fridge behind me.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf he wanted to let us go, he would have already. It’s been dead all week.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBet you he\u2019ll let me go first.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d I turn around to face Liam. He holds a foggy bottle of Sprite and a smirk blooms on his lips.<\/p>\n
As Liam leans towards me and whispers, I shiver. \u201cBecause he likes to be alone with you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat the fuck happened?\u201d David directs his question and Liam and I.<\/p>\n
Liam pulls a long, distressed face. \u201cI don\u2019t know, she just fell\u2013slipped maybe! I just mopped but I don\u2019t know what happened, am I in trouble?\u201d he whimpers.<\/p>\n
David sighs. \u201cJesus, Liam, just go home before I have to file an incident report.\u201d He picks up the phone and punches the keys with exasperation.<\/p>\n
Liam turns his back to David and winks at me as he goes to grab his jacket. \u201cI\u2019m so, so sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
Told you so, he mouths.<\/p>\n
Running a hand over his tired face, David waves him away. \u201cLily,\u201d he says. \u201cMop that up when the ambulances leave.\u201d<\/p>\n
I feel a pinch on the back of my thigh, Liams goodbye. I nod at David, and begin stacking again.<\/p>\n
Business slows down again after the accident. It takes half an hour until they leave and I study the wall with the bench in the corner of my eye. Six down, white. Three diagonal, light green. The girl\u2019s friends shuffle away with red puffy eyes. They don\u2019t notice their food, brown paper bags left to wilt in the rain.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy do people always do stupid shit in the rain?\u201d David\u2019s leans against the kitchen door with one hand in his gray-black hair. Behind the door the fryer sizzles softly and the vent fan blows it all away.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you want me to go clean it now?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNah, nah. The rain\u2019ll wash it away,\u201d he says, though the rain has died down to a sprinkle and the blood is trickling across the storefront. David steps up to the front counter beside me. We both stare outside.<\/p>\n
I wonder if the cooks are on break in the back or watching through the door\u2019s window.<\/p>\n
\u201cFucking Liam,\u201d David pushes his hair back again. Liam thinks it makes him feel younger, more attractive. \u201cHe\u2019s not the smartest, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s alright.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNah he\u2019s an idiot. All those guys are, except you.\u201d David chuckles and throws a look my way that I don\u2019t acknowledge. My hand\u2019s reach for a nearby stack of napkins.<\/p>\n
He tries his hand at joking again. \u201cYou know I should just fire \u2018em all. Keep you around more often.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stiffen. And keep stacking.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, uh, what’re you doing after work today?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGoing home. Homework, I think.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat, on a friday?\u201d I try not to react as David slaps his hand on the counter. \u201cNah, nah you have to go out. You\u2019re gonna regret that kind of thing when you get older, kid.\u201d His hand squeezes my left arm.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s raining.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd bars are indoors. And warm. You know what, you should come out with us! Yeah, yeah, we\u2019re celebrating Gerry\u2019s birthday tonight\u2013I mean, we\u2019re a few weeks late\u2013but we\u2019re all going downtown to Joes after close. You should come.\u201d<\/p>\n
He takes another step closer, hand on my arm again. His gaze burns into the side of my face.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t, I really should do homework.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCome onnn. Don\u2019t be so serious, Lily. Loosen up!\u201d<\/p>\n
I hold my mouth shut. The texture of the napkins on my fingers is rough and dry, powdery almost.<\/p>\n
Out of the corner of my eye I see David squint as he looks at me closely. Then the doorbell rings, a customer enters. He backs away.<\/p>\n
\u201cUh, make sure you get that mess outside cleaned up. Looks bad to the customers,\u201d he says before he goes back into the kitchen.<\/p>\n
In my hands the napkins are a crumpled mess. I set them to the side and let go of the deep breath I\u2019ve been holding. My eyes and stomach are burning, but I can\u2019t think of that now. I grit my teeth in face of it.<\/p>\n
\u201cHi sir, how can I help you?\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Working somewhere as temporary and replaceable as a fast food restaurant, you can pick a new identity and try it on for a season. I become obedient, quiet. It\u2019s easier that way.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":20400,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[3514,3515,3516],"class_list":["post-19780","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-food-service","tag-restaurant","tag-sexual-harassment","writer-maya-johnson"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19780","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19780"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19780\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20399,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19780\/revisions\/20399"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20400"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19780"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19780"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19780"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}