An average joe comes in
and orders thirty cheeseburgers and thirty fries.
I wait for him to pay before I start cooking.
He pays.
He ain't no average joe.
The grill is just big enough for ten rows of three.
I slap the burgers down
throw two buckets of fries in the deep fryer
and they pop pop spit spit...
psst...
The counter girls laugh.
I concentrate.
It is the crucial point----
they are ready for the cheese:
my fingers shake as I tear off slices
toss them on the burgers / fries done / dump /
refill buckets / burgers ready / flip into buns /
beat that melting cheese/wrap burgers in plastic /
into paper bags / fries done / dump / fill thirty bags /
bring them to the counter / wipe sweat on sleeve
and smile to the counter girls.
I puff my chest out and bellow:
"Thirty Cheeseburgers, thirty fries!"
They look at me funny.
I grab a handful of ice toss it in my mouth
do a little dance and walk back to the grill.
Pressure, responsibility, success,
thirty Cheeseburgers, thirty fries.
