I take every day as it comes. I've been working at Burgers 'N Things since I was sixteen. Back then it was to make a little money after school so I could go to the movies or dinner with my friends. Now, though... I'm almost twenty-three and I'm stuck here. I dream about the day that I can walk out that door with my head held high and never come back. It's sad, really; sad because who knows if I'll ever get that day. Most days it feels like I'll be trapped here for the rest of my life.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not suicidal or anything. I just want more out of life. I want to be more than Ned, the burger flipper. Hell, I'm not even the burger flipper in this damn place. I work the drive-thru line. Not that either one of those jobs is more prestigious than the other, but when you tell people you work at a fast food joint, they get a certain idea of you: you're flipping burgers.
And I can't even live up to that idea.
I had dreams, you know; aspirations. I wanted to be a lawyer. I wanted to dress up in a nice suit and tie, barge into a courtroom and dazzle the pants off of a judge with my cunning wit and thoughtful arguments. Where'd those dreams go? Probably flew out the automatic window of this drive-thru with a passing wind like so many flimsy napkins before and after them.
I gotta tell ya, working in this place is wild. They always say, "The customer is always right" but what they don't tell you is that's a load of bullshit. What they should say is, "The customer is not always right, but the customer sure as hell thinks they are."
Take this lady I had yesterday. I was taking her order, and she kept pausing as she got each of her kids’ orders out of them, and I could tell they were little brats. Every time she’d try to order an item one of them would start running their mouths and she’d shush promptly shush them. But eventually we got it done and she drove up to the window. I charged her card, everything was going as smoothly as possible. I gave her the drink, slipped a straw inside her bag of food and gave it to her, a well-rehearsed smile on my face and a "Thank You" on my lips.
It was taking her a good amount of time to leave the drive-thru lane, and I took in the sight of rambunctious kids in the back of her car, kicking the back of her seat. The lady had her back turned toward me, as she screamed at her kids to shut the hell up and calm the hell down. The legs kicking her seat stopped moving. That’s when she turned back to me. She had that look; the one they give when I did something wrong.
"Something wrong, ma'am?" I asked.
"You didn't give me a straw!" She said.
I knew I had. "It's in the bag, ma'am, I'm sorry, I normally specify that I put it there." I apologized. I apologized. I didn't do anything wrong, but I apologized.
"I already checked there! Just give me a damn straw!" She huffed, and I saw the rhythmic moving of those tiny legs kicking at her seat in the back start up again.
"Of course." I spoke, smile still plastered to my face because if there's one thing I've learned at this job it's that irate people don't like it when you smile at them.
I reached my hand over to the container that normally held the straws but my hand came back empty. I'd given her the last one in the package. I internally swore to myself because now, on top of her being mad about the fact that I "didn't give her a straw" she was going to have to wait a little longer while I got one for her, all made worse with the kick, kick, kick of her son’s feet at her back.
I felt her glaring at me as I turned around to find a new box of straws from supply cupboard that was thankfully right next to the drive-thru window. It took me all of thirty seconds to rip open a new box and pluck one out of the bunch. Turning back, I saw her waiting there with an outstretched arm, tapping on her steering wheel restlessly.
The window opened as my arm passed the sensor and I extended my arm out to her, straw in hand. "Here you go. Sorry about that." I told her with sincerity that only I knew was false.
I stared at her hand, coming slowly toward my own to take the straw, inching and inching, closer and closer. I noticed her fingers wrapping around the straw. So, I let go. I let go and I celebrated internally. I tell you, it was like I had delivered a grandstanding closing remark to the jury and left them all in awe, slack-jawed and clapping at my sweet rebuttal skills.
Until… a burst of wind came and pulled the straw out of the woman’s hand and onto the ground a couple feet ahead of her car. I stared at the straw's new position first in shock, then in frustration. That awe-stuck jury in my head collapsed down to the finite bang, bang of a gavel, restoring order to the court.
Shaking off the feeling of utter failure, I picked up another straw and handed it to her in silence; no grandstanding about it. She took the straw with a firm grasp, her kid still bashing her chair to no end. No wind blew by at that moment. The straw was now in her possession, safely in her car, with her obnoxious children. She mumbled under her breath, something about how incompetent I was and sped off.
I was left to stare at the single, stray straw a few feet from the window, mocking me with its freedom. I felt its harsh judgment of my inabilities. That straw was free to go wherever the wind would take it. I wished I was that straw. I still wish I was that straw.