Burger Wuss

by M. T. Anderson

I chuckled. “In the seventh level of hell, they’re all upside down in dung!”

  “Fine,” she said. “Fine. This is exactly what I’m talking about.” And she slammed down the phone. I waited for a second. There was a dial tone.

  “Good then,” I said. “I’ll drop it by sometime today or maybe tomorrow. Love ya!”

  I grinned a big grin and hung up the phone. My parents were smiling like: “You two — so sweet!”

  I went back upstairs to look at myself in the mirror and figure out what made me so ugly.

  That same afternoon Turner made fun of Diana at work. I don’t know what he said, because I wasn’t there, but he at first just was polite but sort of ignoring her, and then later after she kept on saying, “Are we going to talk? Staff room. Now!” he got mean, and made some comment about them making out and nice extra-value meals, I don’t know exactly because Rick and Jenn weren’t listening carefully (they were cowering and holding hands behind the shake machine until things blew over), but Turner said terrible things, and Diana started crying, and she threw down her visor, and she quit.

  I called Diana later. She had her own line. She was screening. I left messages. She never returned them.

  Now it’s been a week since the party. A week since I found Turner lying on top of her, almost undressed. I am going to get revenge. I hate him and his green sateen. I will go to any length. Whatever it takes to make him hurt. I want to see him cry.

  I am starting to smolder now. No more Mr. Nice Guy. No more Mr. Wholesome. I will crawl through sewers, knife in teeth. Climb up walls with suction boots. Nurse my hatred like a baby with pincer hands and twelve legs. I will get revenge. I will make a plan. I will do what I need to.

  I will have it my way.

  Now is the time to be scheming and like evil, I thought to myself. Now for revenge. I smiled cruelly to myself. I practiced several times. You have to narrow your eyes and only curl one half of the mouth. The video said, “Double-fold the bag. Extend it toward the customer. Say, ‘Thank you. Have a nice day!’ This closes the transaction. Remember, a friendly face is the key to a friendly customer and customer satisfaction.”

  I practiced my venomous glare.

  The video screen went blank. The introduction was over. I sat in the dark staff room. I tried a vicious laugh.

  “Eh he he he he he he!” I tried it more from the belly. “Oh eh heh heh heh heh heh!”

  “Anthony, hello?” Mike looked in.

  I stopped laughing.

  “You done with the footage?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I think I’ve got it.”

  He turned on the lights. He said he would give me a tour of the restaurant.

  We walked out of the staff room. He introduced me to one of the cooks.

  “Here’s one of our cooks.”

  There was a kid I thought I had seen around at school. He had shaved all his hair down to a faint golden fuzz. He said, “I’m Shunt. Welcome to corporate hell. Start screaming now.”

  Mike said, “Shunt is a real individual. He’s an unusual member of our O’Dermott’s family.”

  Shunt said, “He grill or register?”

  Mike said, “Register. You need someone for grill?”

  Shunt said, “No. Just asking is all.” He kept on walking.

  Mike showed me the deep-freeze locker. He showed me how to get out from the inside. He showed me where the janitorial supplies were kept. We went to the inside of Drive-Thru Window Number One. No one was there. It was a slow time. He showed me the office. There was a corkboard covered with Instamatic photos. They were all of the O’Dermott’s softball team winning against the Burger Queen team. It looked like it had been quite a day.

  Mike said, “If you have any questions, I’ll ask Turner to take care of you. He’ll be overseeing you. You know Turner?”

  I stuttered with surprise. Then I thought, Don’t panic. Don’t panic! This will be perfect. I’ll be close to him. This will be absolutely perfect for me to hatch a plan.

  I said mysteriously, “Turner and I go way back.”

  “Good!” Mike said.

  Mike and I passed the grills and vats. Shunt was there.

  Mike said, “This is where all the burgers are cooked and dressed.”

  Shunt said to me as he worked, “There are thirteen layers in a Big O: top bun, onions, meat, pickles, lettuce, Super Sauce, middle bun, onions, meat, cheese, lettuce, Super Sauce, bottom bun. In this stack, we’re the meat. These patties are made of our expended brains, nerves, and muscle.”

  Mike said, “You see the humorous way Shunt looks at the world?”

  We went to the registers. Mike said, “You’ll be working a register. At the beginning of your shift, you get a drawer. We know how much money is in your drawer. Be careful when you give people change. We count up how much you have at the end of your shift. Any shortage or overage and we write it down. You get a shortage or overage above ten dollars each shift for a week and you’re fired. Okay? Let’s go talk to Turner.”

  Mike led me over to Turner. He said, “Turner’s an old pro. You know Anthony?”

  I glared at Turner. I smiled like his archenemy. I folded my hands slowly in front of my green polyester smock.

  Turner looked at me blankly. “No,” he said. “I don’t think we’ve met.” He held out his hand. “I’m Turner.”

  I raised my eyebrows harshly. I said, “I think we met the other night.”

  He thought. “No,” he said, shaking his head.

  “We met at a party. Remember?”

  He looked at the ceiling and thought. “Nope,” he said.

  Mike looked at me strangely.

  I said, “Oh.”

  I was a little surprised by this. But then I thought, This will be perfect. No problem at all. Yes, perfect. He won’t suspect a thing. So, Mr. Turner. You are defenseless.

  “Sometimes I’m not around. Turner will answer your questions. Turner’s a shift supervisor and one of our star employees. Anyone can progress in our organization if they just give us their all. Turner did, and he just bought a car with his earnings, didn’t you?”

  “That’s right, Mike. Her name is Margot.”

  “He also earned a green O’Dermott’s jacket for outside wear.”

  “I’ve seen those O’Dermott’s jackets,” I said. “Yes, I’ve seen them. That’s a very handsome style.”

  “We like to think so. Let’s go look at the bathrooms.”

  Mike and I went down the hall to the bathrooms. We walked out into the main dining area. Mike showed me the jungle gym. We went back behind the counter. Mike showed me Window Number Two. Two workers were staring out of Window Number Two. They were reflected in the glass. Their mouths were both open, like they were dreaming.

  I went to one of the registers. I started working. For a while, Mike stayed by my side. He showed me which buttons to press. He reminded me what order I should get things in. He helped me send grill orders back to Shunt. Shunt was singing a country and western song of his own imagining. It went, “I’m a vegan burger-flipper on minimum wage.”

  Then Mike went back to the office. Turner was helpful when I had a question. I would ask him, “How do you erase a fries?” He told me. I would say, “Where do I get the apple pies?” He told me that too.

  But his kindness did not change how I felt. All I had to do was look at him, and I could picture him lying on top of her with his eyes closed. His eyes had been closed with pleasure. He had really been enjoying himself. I thought of her and how kind she had always been to me. I thought of how much she had laughed at my jokes. I could not believe that Turner knew the taste of her teeth.

  That was a taste like no other taste. The tang of thrilling plastic polymers. I remembered a few weeks before, us sitting out in the town forest. We had found a place hidden behind some scrub pine. We could hear the zipping of dirt bikes on the paths. We were kissing.

  “Can you taste it in your food?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “When you have
a taste in your mouth all the time, after a while you can’t taste it. Your taste buds rearrange somehow. It’s completely normal for me.”

  I asked, “How can it be a taste if you can’t taste it?”

  She said, “You know what I mean. I’m sure it’s always in there.”

  “It’s a beautiful taste,” I said.

  She put her hand on the side of my head to steady it, so she could look in my eyes. I watched her mouth and chin. She said, “How does it taste?”

  I said, “A little bitter. Like rare Oriental spice.”

  We kissed again, as dirt bikes hurtled past in groups of three.

  “Hey, new boy. Wake up,” said Turner. “What’s your name again?”

  I said, “Anthony. Sorry.”

  He said, “You like to go out with me and the guys?”

  “What guys?”

  “Those two clowns,” he said, pointing at the two working in the drive-thru window.

  “You mean, when our shift is done?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Couple of hours from now.”

  I panicked. I backed away from him a little. But I knew my answer. “Yes. That would be great. I’ll go out with you guys.”

  “Cool,” he said, and hit me on the arm. I waited for swelling.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  He said, “Let me make a few calls. We’ll plan. Cool.”

  And so when my shift was over I called my parents and told them I was going out. Turner and the other two guys and I changed out of our uniforms in the bathroom. We still stank like burgers. We walked out into the night smelling like a number three. I guess that was better than smelling like a number two.

  Turner’s car was in back of the garbage compactor. “Like the ride?” he said, running his hand across the straight lines of the hood. It was an ’85 Olds. Every detail had been restored to all its Reagan-era glory. “You like this baby?” He said it like a challenge, like he’d hit me if I said no.

  “It’s really nice,” I said. “It’s yours?”

  “No one’s but me,” he said. He unlocked the door. “Paid in cash. This is Margot. She’s about fifteen kijillion burgers made into metal.” He swung his door open. “Anthony, why don’t you sit next to me, up front?”

  I got in on the other side. I was terrified. I was twisting my fingers up into knots. The other two got in behind us. “Where we going?” one asked.

  “You’ll see, boys,” said Turner. He had a pack of cigarettes shoved under the sleeve of his T-shirt. He took one out, winked, and lit it. “I think we’re in for quite a night.”

  “Is it down — you know.”

  “Oh yeah. You got it.”

  “Out there? Man, is everyone down at the place already?”

  “Prob’ly,” said Turner. “They’ve prob’ly already started without us.”

  “Ah, this is cool,” said one of the guys. “You ever done this, kid?”

  “What?” I said. I wrapped my thumbs around each other. “What are we doing?”

  “It’s all the rage,” said Turner. He smiled like a wolf, and smoke drizzled out from between his small teeth. “All the rage in the world right now.”

  He started the car, and screeched out of the parking lot. I grabbed for my seat belt. We were moving pretty quickly. The businesses on Howett Street and Quell went by, all dark. The two guys in the back were whooping.

  “Put on some music,” said one. “Put on some tunes!”

  “On the radio,” said the other. “Or a cassette tape.”

  “This is all the rage right now,” Turner repeated to me. “Everyone’s doing it.”

  “Yeah, man, everyone!” said someone from the back.

  I thought, You will be living the wild life now, man. Now is your chance to learn what makes Turner tick. And to live the wild life. No more Mr. Nice Guy. No more Mr. Wholesome / canoe boy / good-good / dork. Into the Forbidden Zone.

  The windows were open. We were moving at great speed. The hot summer night blew in. It smelled like lawn clippings from bad and marshy lawns. I could smell the hot metal of passing cars.

  “This is the life,” said Turner. “I never want to get older.” He put on some music. It was a tape of a guitar playing the same note over and over. It was a pretty high note for a guitar, I guess, but not unreasonably high. Turner bobbed his head in time with the note. He sped up, but the note played the same as ever.

  “Great stereo,” said someone from the back seat. “This a tape?”

  We passed kids dawdling by a 7-Eleven. They were not on their skateboards, but were spinning them like tops. We nearly rear-ended a pick-up truck at a stoplight.

  “You’ll find,” said Turner, “that everyone from Burger Queen and Wendy’s hangs out with us. We’re like one big happy family. Best thing is, it’s a chance to meet slim and sexy chiquitas. They don’t know what’s hit them. You know what I mean?”

  “No,” I said. I hid the bitterness in my voice. “What do you mean?”

  “Stick with me and I’ll show you. You kind of a wuss around girls?”

  “Yes . . . I mean, no. No.” My hands were back to back, with the fingers knotted painfully together. I slumped in my seat.

  “Hey, look, buddy,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. “It’s fine if you are.” He laughed loudly. “I mean, the world has to have some wusses. Look, I’ll give you a tip when meeting new girls: No does not mean no.”

  “Sometimes I think girls mean no when no is said.”

  “And that’s where you’re wrong, Anthony.” He pointed at my nose and jabbed at it with his finger. I flinched. He said, “That’s where Anthony is wrong. I think of it like when you’re working register: You know, they order a burger and a small fries, and the panel starts flashing drinks, so you go, ‘Ma’am, would you like a drink?’ It’s just like that with girls. Like, you’re there, and they’ve let you put one hand on their leg, the other hand on the back of their neck, and the panel starts flashing, and you go, ‘Ma’am, would you like my tongue shoved in your ear?’ Always one step further. The hard sell.” The two guys in the back laughed and banged the seat-backs.

  I wanted to kill him. I separated my hands. I looked at them and thought about how they would look strangling him and starving his ugly little brain of oxygen. I said, “Thanks, Turner. That’s a great tip.”

  “No prob. You ever treated a girl like that? You got to learn. So how was your first day, Anthony?”

  I circled the wrist of one hand with fingers from the other. I said, “It was good. I mean, as good as it can be.”

  Turner looked at me suspiciously. “What do you mean by that?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I mean, as good as it can be, working at O’Dermott’s.”

  He pulled to a halt. He stared.

  We sat in the car. The engine still ran. I realized we were at another light. He said, “It’s something to be proud of.”

  I laughed along with the joke. Then I looked at his face. He was not laughing. His eyes were narrow. He was looking at me. I stopped laughing. He said, “Not joking. It’s something to be proud of. You’re working, kid. We’re all working. That’s more than some guys can say. Think about that. We’re a popular and profitable franchise.”

  “Yeah,” said someone from the back seat. “The man himself is coming at the end of the month.”

  “Which man?” I said.

  “Kermit O’Dermott. On his way here.”

  I was incredulous. “You mean: the elf?”

  Turner nodded with pride. “They’re making a commercial at our O’Dermott’s. Kermit O’Dermott himself will be there.”

  Someone from the back said, “They said we could maybe be in it. As extras. And we’re going to have a big party.”

  Turner moved forward. “You got to be proud of your job, man,” he said. “There’s nothing more American than O’Dermott’s. Don’t get like Shunt. Man, Shunt’s a mess. He has a secret organization. He’s trying to destroy O’Dermott’s Corporation from the ins
ide. He’s a goddamn commie.”

  One of the guys from the back corrected, “Anarchist.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Is not.”

  “Look,” said Turner. “Your like cynicism aside. O’Dermott’s is about America. It’s about everything that is American.” The guitar note pulsed under his speech. He spoke intensely. I thought he was going to cry. “O’Dermott’s is about the highway. It’s about going places, no time to stop. It’s about, ‘Go west, young man.’ It’s like the Pilgrim fathers, wagon trains, the miner forty-niners —”

  “The Donner Party,” said someone.

  “Hey. Hey. I’m serious, pal. We are about a big country. We’re about growing. We’re about new hope.” He pointed at my face. “There has never been a war between two countries with O’Dermott’s in them. You know what I’m saying? We,” he said, laying his hand on the dashboard, “are the peacemakers.”

  With that he spun out into the intersection, down old Route 43, past the orchards, past the gravel pits, past the mulch farm, toward our unknown destination. We were moving so fast that the sound of the crickets sawing away in all the fields around us was a single sheet of noise. We were moving so fast I could barely hear dogs’ barks rise and fall as we passed houses. They were barking at us because we were on the outside, tearing through town. We were dangerous. We roared through the night.

  And then we pulled up to the town’s big graveyard. Turner pulled to the side of the road. He stopped the car. Suddenly, he shrieked along with the music, singing, “Dng! Dng! Dng! Dng! Dng! Dng! Dng!” He banged his head in time with the beat. He laughed. He turned off the engine. The tape clicked and stopped.

  Through the open windows, we could suddenly hear the individual pulses of the crickets.

  He turned around in his seat. “You ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sure thing, Turner.”

  We got out of the car. We were parked next to a stone wall. We climbed over it, one by one.

  “Uh,” I said, “about what time will we be finished?”

  “Chill out,” said Turner. “Depends on how much you can take.”

  We were walking through the cemetery. The sky was filled with stars. The far horizon was burned orange by the lights of the malls. Everything was still. Small smears of light reflected off dark, slick monuments.