The floor shook. The lamps hanging overhead swung left and right. The surging crowds frothed and swirled as if some terrible storm was brewing. Mr. Choy stared around in amazement from his table in the food court, his as-yet-unopened bottle of club soda dancing crazily on the table as if it were in a washing machine. Mr. Choy heard them before he saw them. The crowd was surging toward him, led by some frighteningly huge potatoes. He sank lower in his seat as they charged past, the floor rumbling as if there was an earthquake inside the food court.
Finally, at long last, the crowd passed. He looked around. A giant sign above the Bigger Burger, barely legible through the incredibly thick crowd, read “Free Soda and Fries with Big Burger Purchase!”
BOOM! The cap flew off his club soda, drenching him in carbonated water. “This is just perfect,” thought Mr. Choy, “On the one hand, one of my job prospects will be mobbed all afternoon. On the other hand, I’m soaked. I can’t interview anywhere like this!” He slowly got up, leaving a puddle of water that trailed off after him toward the restrooms.
Next on Mr. Choy’s list of prospective employers was Baja Flesh, a chain of Mexican restaurants that included one in the mall’s food court. He picked his way across the overturned tables and chairs and mangled food that littered the path of the advancing patrons of the Bigger Burger.
Baja flesh was in a small corner of the food court, the particular odor of cilantro stung his nostrils as Mr. Choy walked in. “What’ll you have today, sir?” asked the sprig of cilantro behind the counter.
“I came in to ask about the open job here,” replied Mr. Choy, “Can I talk with the manager?”
“Hold on just a moment,” said the cilantro, as she went into the back room.
Mr. Choy waited, looking over the menu. The usual fare was available; burritos, tacos, sodas, quesadillas, and much more. “It seems like a good enough place, but would I like to work here,” he wondered. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The thought of the truckload of Shredded Wheat coursed through his brain. “I’ll take the job,” he concluded, “I really need to get some good food.”
Just at that moment, the cilantro returned with the biggest rutabaga that Mr. Choy had ever seen. “So you want a job here?” the rutabaga asked.
“I certainly do,” answered Mr. Choy.
“Good. Can you cook?” asked the rutabaga.
“Some odds and ends,” answered Mr. Choy.
“Good enough. Why don’t we step into the kitchen?” asked the rutabaga, opening a door in the counter. They moved into the kitchen. There was a large grill against one wall, and an enormous electric grinder in one corner. Pots and pans and spatulas hung from the ceiling and take-out trays filled the remaining walls. A giant refrigerator door stood next to the grill. The label on the door read Salsa Vegetables.
