Opinion

March 12, 2001

In the Wrath of a Tyrant

Hello, some of you may know
me as Mark;.others might
know me as Sparky. Others
still may still be familiar with
one of my many other aliases
under which my secret lives
are lived. It is all of little con-
sequence. | am going to tell
you a tale one of grease,
grime and minimum wage
horror.

It was a _ windy, winter,
Wednesday afternoon that |
decided to partake in some
fast food. | did not go to
Burger Christ, nor did | fre-
quent a franchise that clings
to its Scottish prefix like a
clown to his oversize shoes.
It was a different world alto-
gether. One that sold strange
sandwiches and had Pippi
Longstockingesque logos

adorning everything.

Upon entering the establish-
ment, | had to wind my way
through a labyrinthine struc-
ture to the counter. As | made
my way closer to the end, |
nervously eyed the girl work-
ing the register. It definitely
appeared that her senses
were as tweaked as my own.
“Can | take your order?” She
was quick, a little too quick if
you ask me. | was only half
way through the stockade
already | felt as though it was
the beginning of a paranoid
episode.

As she picked me apart with
questions about french fries
and beverages, | decided that
| would not be the victim yet
again. Noticing the slight
sparkle of braces in her

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feigned smile, | picked my tar-
get. | myself had braces for
quite some time and | won-
der, is she self-conscious
about them too? Whether
she was or wasn’t, | bored
straight into her soul by route
of orthodontic work. | could
tell right away that she was
feeling the dread of having a
customer take control. As |
stared down my devilishly
sweet foe and her surgical
steel smile, another thought
dawned on me, this time |
had forgotten to pay attention
to the preparation of my food.
Leaning over the counter and
into the kitchen, | found an
un-obscured view. The burg-
ers that | had ordered were a
fairly simple combination: a
bun, some lettuce, tomato, a
dollop of mayonnaise and a
slice of cheese. Assembly
of these components would
have been easy for even the

most inept of fast food
| employees, such was not
| the case. The minimum

wage worker in question
was most definitely a career
professional. One could

| determine this in seeing the
| way his dirty apron was lack-

| adaisically hung over his
| slouched shoulders.

It was
obvious in the master skill
he used to flip the patties

and the way he dove into the
challenge of burger prepara-
tion, rather than shy away.
Perhaps | was watching
him a little too closely for the
manager was soon following
suit. | suppose it was my
fault, because under his man-
agers watchful glare he
cracked. It was only a slice of
cheese that he missed, and
as | felt to blame, | could not
sit idly by as the manager
moved in to berate him. |
caught the manager's eye,
and although she did not
acknowledge me, she knew
what it meant, no fucking
around. The missing cheese
slice was put on the burger
where it belonged and my
metal-mouthed opponent
smiled at me as she handed it
over. | proceeded to a table
but before | had even
unwrapped the sandwich, |
heard the first sounds of the
impending doom.
In my absence, the manager
had moved in. She was tear-
ing a strip off the poor slouch
whose glazed over look indi-
cated nothing but dumb
foundedness. Immediately |
saw the panic spread, like a
wildfire, to the other employ-
ees. One by one they fearful-
ly realized that their days of
$7.50 an hour could be num-

bered.

The first to break down was
the girl at the counter. Tears
welled up in her eyes; they
sparkled under the neon
lights as her braces had only
minutes — earlier. Other
employees shuffled about,
cleaning, and looking busy to
escape the wrath of the
enraged tyrant.

As | watch it all unfold, |
spot the girl from the register
coming into the lobby to
clean. ! stare away from her,
afraid she might recruit me in
a plot to defect. | just know
she must be entertaining the
fantasy of one day leaving
this tiny island, but there is no
way | can take her with me.
In leaving | don’t look back
and to this day there is a
strong doubt that | will ever
return to that place.

In this instance, | ask that
you have sympathy for those
toiling at the burger joint
down the street. | was weak,
and once again in entering
the realm we call the public, |
failed. Some might say it is a
psychological disorder, this |
doubt very much. In any
case, don’t worry about me
because it’s all in my head.

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