There are only a couple of cars parked in front. Inside, Helen is minding the counter and Betty is sweeping the floor. I clock in and have small talk with all-American Helen. There is a newspaper sitting on the first table in the restaurant. I glance at the headlines: The fires in Oregon are 50% contained. Over 500,000 acres have burned so far.
Betty approaches me. “Hi Denise! I’m your waitress today!” She seems pleased to be working with me.
“Hi Betty! Great! We’ll make a great team! What’s going on in the kitchen? Anything I need to know?”
“It’s kind of quiet, but we always have stuff to do.” Betty has a tray of salt and pepper shakers that she is quickly refilling as she speaks.
“Good, I’ll have time to get my bearings on food prep.”
I walk to the grill and see the regular mess that Bubba leaves for me. At least the oil drip pan is not overflowing today. I check it anyway, and see that it is only half full of grease at the moment. It irritates me that Bubba comes to work in the morning to a shiny grill, and leaves his mess for me. I suppose this is something I’ll have to live with.
After twenty minutes of cleaning, I go inside the cold storage room to retrieve tomatoes, red onion, and to see if we need mashed potatoes or potato salad. I will need a vegetable and soup for the dinner guests. I see that Bubba has made some sort of sausage soup. I get a tummy ache as soon as I smell it. It looks like there is a fresh box of artichokes, which would be really nice with the dinners. Next to the box of artichokes I see the large bag of lawn seed. It makes me wonder if a product like that should be stored with food supplies. I also find an industrial size bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips and wonder if Billy would mind if I make cookies to sell?
I take some empty cardboard boxes out the back door to throw into the, once again, growing pile of boxes that will need to be burned. Bubba’s large legs are sticking out from under the storage shed, directly below the full flytrap that hangs above the ramp. He is moving around trying to get at something and his feet are dangerously close to the dripping trash compactor goop. The flytrap is smelly and buzzing with dead and dying flies. Earlier I had seen a fresh flytrap inside the storage room. I will change that after Bubba leaves.
“What’s going on under there, Bubba?” I say holding my nose.
He slides out gawkily from under the building. Once again I find the necessity to withhold a laugh seeing him on his belly. My impending laughter turns to horror when I see his fat hand clutching the tail of a dead cat. Unbelievable! Dead flies, rotten food, and a dead cat, all five feet from a restaurant kitchen!
“I HAD TO GET THIS SON A BITCH OUT FROM UNDER HERE. I SHOT HIM SOME TIME LAST WEEK. DIDN’T KNOW WHERE HE WENT ‘TIL TODAY.” The horrible smell of death hits me like a brick!
“Why did you have to shoot him?” I say, still holding nose.
“CAUSE HE KEEPS KNOCKIN UP MY CAT! HE’S BEEN A DAMN NUISANCE!” Bubba waves the dead body at me like a wet rag.
“Oh.” This obviously does not make me very happy. Stupid asshole wants to kill everything! He is putting the dead cat into a plastic bag. He’s probably going to have that as his next special.
“So Bubba, did you get the mountain lion last night?” Huh, Bubba? Did ya get em? Did you shoot that beautiful creature too?
“NO, BUT DAMN NEAR! I’M GOIN TO NEXT TIME THO. HE’S BEEN HANGIN AROUND HERE TOO MUCH. THINKS HE OWNS THE PLACE!” Maybe someone should shoot Bubba for the same reason.
“Well, if you get him, I get dibs on a fang.” I’m saying this in a cocky, sarcastic manner, because I have no control over the death of a beautiful creature, and if Bubba were to kill him, I would honor his spirit by keeping a fang. The mountain lion has always been my totem. My niece, and Lori’s daughter, Tiki, has a book of totems that identifies which animal is your own through your time and date of birth. One day we all sat at Lori’s house and claimed our totems.
Bubba gives me a weird look.
“I AIN’T GONNA GIVE YA NO DAMN FANG!”
“Just a joke Bubba.” Now get the hell out of here!
“AND BY THE WAY, YA STILL AIN’T SCRUBBIN’ THE GRILL RIGHT! I’LL COME IN AT CLOSIN’ AND SHOW YA HOW ITS GOTTA BE DONE.” This man has to be the nastiest human being I’ve ever met!
Bubba gets onto his scooter, throwing the bagged up dead cat into the pile of empty beer cans and drives away. I go into the storage room and retrieve the new flytrap and a gallon of bleach. I bag up the stinky old flytrap and throw it away and then hang up the new one, and then I pour straight bleach all over and around the ground below the trash compactor. Maybe it will smell a little better out here with all the death gone. What kind of a fog are Billy and Ray living in anyway? What they need is a manager. This could be a wonderful place, but all I see is dysfunction! Perhaps they are just plain old burned out after all these years, and I’m sure finding good help must be a nightmare!
Somewhere in the park I hear the mower start up.
I return to the kitchen and wash my hands. I see Betty taking an order from a lady sitting at a table. It is an older lady, at least older than me. She has wild bleached blonde hair, and is bejeweled with lots of glittery clothes.
“Lottie wants her regular.” Betty hangs up the order on the crown of thorns.
“What’s her regular?” I ask.
“Oh, I forgot. I guess you haven’t cooked for Lottie yet. She comes in almost everyday. She always orders the same thing. New York steak raw, just thrown on the grill for a second or two on each side, enough to barely brown the edges, and burnt toast.”
I’m appalled and still nauseated from the stench outside. “Really? Okay, if you say so. Does she want baked or mashed potatoes?”
“Neither. That’s all she ever wants on her plate.”
The slab of New York is in the cold storage room. I get it and cut off the one-inch thick slice that Billy had said to do for New York. I lay it on the grill for several seconds while the toast gets burnt. When I have finished I do not see Betty to deliver the order, but want to meet this lady anyway, and see if I have done this correct, so I take it out to her table.
“Hello. I’m Denise. I just started working here. Here’s your order. I’m hoping I did this correct.” I lay the unappetizing looking platter in front of her.
“Well, hi there Denise. I’m Lottie. I’m glad Billy got some help. Now let’s see if you did this right. The toast could be burnt a little more, but this is fine.” She cuts into her steak. Blood oozes out onto her plate. I instantly gag.
“Perfect! So what brings you to this part of the world?” Lottie says while holding a large piece of bright red dripping steak on her fork a few inches from her mouth.
“I’m wondering that myself. I guess you could call it a working vacation.”
“Good Lord woman! Never heard of such a thing! Well, whatever brought you here; I’m glad for Billy and Ray. Good people those two. By the way, love the apron!” She stuffs the bite into her mouth. A droplet of blood drips onto her chin.
“Thank you. I found it at a thrift store.” I happily look long and hard at my apron, giving her time to wipe her mouth with her napkin.
I chat with Lottie for a while longer. It seems she used to own a bar in Vegas for over twenty years, and has retired somewhere near Brandon. I like Lottie, even with her disgusting eating habits. She seems to like me too. It will be entertaining to get to know the local characters.
Betty has been in the background nervously watching me. When I return to the grill, she approaches me. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to take the order out. I had to use the restroom.”
“Oh Betty, that’s okay. I just wanted to meet her and find out if I cooked the steak as she wanted.”
“Oh.” I think Betty thought that I would be mad at her. She’s such a nervous and hyper person. I’m sure working with Bubba could make anyone paranoid!
Billy walks in with a cup of coffee and sits down with Lottie. They talk for some time, often looking in my direction. They are both sm
iling, so I think that if they were talking about me, it would be good things they were saying. I hope!
Not too long after that, Billy enters the kitchen. She compliments me on my apron, and says that she is going to make her and Ray some lunch. She opens a can of tuna, and gets out a boiled egg.
“Billy?”
“Yes, Denise?”
“I noticed you have a big bag of chocolate chips in there. Would it be okay to make some cookies?” I sound like a little girl asking Mom if I can make cookies.
“I’ve had those chocolate chips for a few months now. I used to keep chocolate chip cookies in a basket by the register. People loved them. I haven’t had the time or energy to fix them lately. So if you’re up to it, and it’s not busy, then go ahead.”
Betty runs over and puts up an order for a Rueben sandwich and a hot beef sandwich. Since I had not made either one of those yet, Billy walks me through it. I’m catching on to being a fast-fry cook. It’s when I’m overwhelmed that I lose control of my focus. At this pace I can ingest all the information.
After the order is completed, Billy walks over to a table and yells out to Ray to come join her. Ray comes out and walks over to the meat counter rolling his oxygen tank behind him. “Good day, pretty lady,” he greets me sweetly.
“Good day, Ray. How are you doing?”
“Things could be better, but they ain’t. Other than that I’m just fine. How ya doin in the kitchen?” Ray eyeballs the grill.
“I think okay. You be the judge of that.”
“Why don’t ya come on over to visit with Billy and me after work today?” he asks.
“If I’m not too tired, I just might do that.”
“We’ll see ya then. I’m gonna be turning the ground soon in front of your trailer, and beyond that about a hundred yards or so. Want to put in that lawn that we never got to last summer.”
“Yeah, Bubba mentioned that to me. Sounds really nice. I’m getting all set up in the fifth wheel now. Thanks again for everything. Did you notice the fire pit?” I’m wondering if Ray might say it’s too close to the propane tank.
“You bet cha. Gotta make it like home for ya if we expect ya to stay with us.”
“You’re very sweet, and I appreciate all that you are doing.” I pat the top of his hand that is resting on the meat counter.
“Likewise, pretty lady.” I detect some water building in his eyes. Ray is probably not used to a sincere thank-you. I feel my eyes water up and quickly go to retrieve the chocolate chips and all the ingredients to make the cookies. There are orders in-between my cookie preparation. But eventually the cookies are made. I have made them large, gooey in the middle, and crispy on the edges. I individually wrap each one up and put them into a basket up by the register. Helen opens one up and takes a big bite as soon as I lay them down.
“Very good!” She is holding the cookie like she is drinking English tea to protect her nails.
“Thanks. Let me know if they sell or not today.” I say as I walk away.
Betty helps me get the special board down, and I write, ‘Fresh homemade chocolate chip cookies at register.’
At around 3:30, Helen runs up to the kitchen in a panic.
“Good Lord! The bus is on its way!” She throws her hands in the air.
“What bus?” I am confused.
“The bus to Reno! We just got a call that they are stopping here for an early dinner break. This happens a couple of times a month.”
“A bus full of people? To eat? Oh my God! Are you kidding me?”
“Would I kid you about something like this? Billy is on her way into the kitchen in a minute. We have to get busy slicing meats and tomatoes. I have to get lettuce ready for salads. Betty, you better get a few more pots of coffee going. Denise, it would probably be a good idea to make some hamburger patties ready for the grill, and thaw out another twenty pounds for later. Better warm up the soup too. These seniors love their soup! We have to get them out of here within an hour, so that they can keep to schedule.”
This moment in time is like a blur to me. I know I was making sandwiches, hamburgers, and scooping up the rest of Bubba’s horrid soup. The smoke from the flaming grill is making my eyes burn. We are bumping into each other. The line of seniors goes all the way out the door. The restroom is very busy. Our music from the stereo system is playing country, and all I hear is the hum of many people talking at once. I find Betty, at one point in the chaos, in the cold storage room slapping her own face and scolding herself out loud for something unknown to me. Whoa, now that is scary! Poor little creature is all screwed up.
When it was all said and done, Billy lights a cigarette and goes back to her home area. We have sold all of the cookies, and the kitchen looks like a tornado hit it. Betty is busy cleaning the dining area and the piles of dishes, she is still mumbling to herself. I begin my chore of cleaning the kitchen and grill for the dinner crowd. It is now 5:45, and a group of four come in for dinner.
After things are a little more in control, and I have cooked the four hamburgers with fries for the guests, I tell Betty that I need to let my dogs out for a minute. I know she will handle anything that comes up. I take them some leftover hamburger as a treat. After a quick break for all of us, I return to the grill, ignoring Bonita and Bandito’s pleading eyes of abandonment.
At closing time, Bubba bangs through the back door. He is drunk, and I catch a glimpse of Terry sitting in the scooter outside. I am in the process of cleaning the grill.
“OKAY. THIS IS HOW YA DO IT!” Bubba grabs the large brick of pumice stone out of my hand, pressing and sliding it violently across the flat grill. He goes at it like a maniac! “YA GOTTA PRESS HARD. LIKE THIS! AND GET INTO EVERY CORNER!”
I say nothing. I am tired and he is just a jackass. I’ll just stand here and let him clean it. I don’t have the energy or strength to do it anyway.
“Looks good Bubba. Thanks.”
He goes into the cold storage and gets a twelve pack. When he comes out he offers me a beer, which I take, and then he leaves.
I pop the beer and take a long gulp. I am hungry and thirsty. We are allowed a full meal of choice if we do an eight-hour shift, so I prepare myself a chilidog with cheese. I do not cook it on the flat grill, which is now clean and ready for Bubba to dirty in the morning. Instead I cook it over the grated grill, warming my chili on the stove in a small pan. I cut myself a piece of apple pie, wrapping everything up to take back to the fifth wheel to eat.
I bleach all the counters and mop the floor; Betty has finished all the dishes and cooking pans and counts up our tips. We have $80 each! I clock out. I have worked nine and a half hours.
The air is chilly inside my trailer. I turn off the air conditioner and open the windows. I had left a few of them cracked open for circulation during the day.
“Hi babies! Mom is sorry! I’m home now. Gotta work or we won’t eat! You have to go outside? Let’s go, and then I’ll take you for a walk after I eat. Okay?”
“NOW! NOW! NOW! NOW!” Sometimes Bonita’s bark can grind on my nerves.
After I walk the dogs, I sit at my picnic bench to eat my dinner. I use my camping lantern for light. The dogs are enjoying being in the fenced area and out of the trailer. I’m hoping it’s too late for mosquitoes to bother me. I hear tons of frogs croaking on the lake’s edge. Either I didn’t notice them before, or they just arrived. I have no idea. I hope they eat mosquitoes. I see a few bats in the sky. There is a slice of moon to light them up as they swish around. Good! I know they like mosquitoes! The mud hens are honking out on the lake. Bubba must be coming down the road, because I hear him spitting. He walks past the back side of my trailer and heads over to Billy and Ray’s house. As soon as he arrives there I hear his burly voice and laughter as Billy and Ray greet him at the sliding glass door.
I return to eating my dinner. My chilidog was wonderful! I needed a good dose of chemicals and mechanically separated chicken and pork parts to keep up with everyone else around this place. I sa
ve my apple pie for breakfast.
With the dogs leashed and pepper spray in hand, we go for a walk around the main building. I don’t plan on going too far, since it’s obvious that there is a mountain lion roaming around, and it is dark, so I stay tight within the lights of the building. When I walk by Billy’s lawn area, her dog, Harley, starts barking at us. Billy comes out to see what he is barking at. She is smoking a cigarette, and I can see and hear Bubba and Ray having a jovial conversation at the bar area of their living room.
“Is that our little gypsy lady?” Billy shouts out.
“Hi Billy! Just walking the kids.” Bonita and Bandito are barking at Harley. Harley has decided that my dogs aren’t worth the trouble, and goes back inside the house.
“When you finish up that walk, get in here and have a drink with us!”
“Okay, that sounds nice. I’ll be over in a while.”
As I walk towards the front of the building, I see someone else walking their dog off in the distance. I feel safer knowing they are there.
Back at the trailer, I make myself a gin and limeade, change my clothes, close fenced area to keep the ducks out, and walk to Billy’s. I am greeted with big tight hugs from Billy and Ray. Bubba is off to the side of the bar and has rosy cheeks and blood shot eyes. Tonight his demeanor is one of a shy, sweet, smiling, gentleman. He’s not fooling me for one minute. Is he fooling Billy and Ray? Surely they’ve seen what I see. Or have they?
“What’s that yur drinkin’?” asks Ray.
Sitting on top of the bar next to the questioning Ray, I see a half gallon bottle of Wild Turkey. It is nearly empty. That is what Billy and Ray appear to be drinking. Bubba has a beer in his hand. I wonder where Terry is.
“It’s gin and limeade.” I tell Ray.
GRILL! Page 11