Burger Wuss

by M. T. Anderson

  Turner was talking to them when I got back to the tray.

  “You are being served by O’Dermott’s finest, ladies,” he said. He grabbed my shoulders. “Allow me to do the introduction thing. Anthony. This is Anthony.”

  “Hi,” I said. “Your double hamburger will be a minute.” I told them the total.

  “Nice to meet you,” one said.

  “Anthony is a fine young man,” said Turner.

  I nodded. “I’m the talk of the town,” I said. They laughed. They probably thought Turner and I were wacky friends.

  “It’s nice to meet both of you,” said one of the girls.

  “Would you like sauce with those nuggets?” I asked.

  “Anthony is a nice boy,” Turner said. “That’s what you need to know about Anthony. He’s a nice, nice, nice boy. Aren’t you, Anthony?”

  “Okay, Turner. Thank you.”

  “Anthony is a little angel. Anthony is a complete sweetie-pie.”

  “Thank you, Turner. You can stop now.”

  “Anthony is a real man. That’s what I like about Anthony.”

  “A real man. Thank you, Turner.”

  “Other men, when they found me on top of their girlfriends, half undressed? They might’ve cried. But not Anthony. No, there I was, on top of his girlfriend, with my tongue about halfway down her throat, but did Anthony cry? No. He was too much the man. You’re the man, man! You, man, are the man!”

  “Turner!”

  The two girls were looking nervous. They were looking embarrassed. There were several people in line behind them now.

  “No!” Turner cried, speaking now to the whole counter. “There I was, half undressed on top of Diana Gritt, the girl of his dreams. But did he cry? There I was, feeling her tits. But he did not cry! No way! No damn way! He ran! He saw who he was up against, turned around, and ran! Anthony ran away! Because he is a good boy! A nice boy! That, my friends, is a very, very, very nice boy!”

  “Could I have my change?” asked one girl, holding out her hand. “Is our food ready?”

  I looked down at the drawer. Turner’s hand shot back.

  It was then that I saw it. I saw the obvious: Turner had taken a ten and was holding it under the edge of the counter, behind his back.

  “Turner!” I said. I slammed the drawer shut. “You took a ten!”

  “I didn’t take a ten.”

  “It’s in your hand!”

  “Try to grab it. If you can grab it, you can have it back.”

  “Um, I’m sorry,” said the girl. “I still didn’t get my change.”

  “Grill’s up!” yelled Shunt. “Come and get it! Swallow hard before the fat congeals!”

  I was so ashamed, I turned my back on them all. The girls were looking at me like they were deeply sorry. Everyone in the line was looking at me. I put together the girls’ order. I took the special order from the top of the bin. I felt so embarrassed, I was weak. I felt like I needed to sit down. I needed to kick something. I needed to break something. I went back to the tray. I put the sandwich down on the tray. The girls weren’t even looking at me anymore. Turner wasn’t around. I guessed he was getting rid of the ten.

  I slid the tray toward the two girls. “Have a nice day,” I said.

  “You didn’t give me change.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m really sorry. He —” I didn’t get any further. I gestured back where Turner might be. I felt myself blush. My face was stinging. I released the drawer. I took out the change. I counted it carefully.

  “Actually,” said one of the girls, “maybe we could have this to go?”

  I took out a bag. I put my hand inside the bag and flattened out the bottom. I put it on the counter. I took each item off the tray and nestled it carefully in the bag. People in the line were getting impatient. They were tapping their feet. Rattling their keys. I double-folded the bag. I pushed it toward them.

  “Have a nice day,” I said.

  In my next free moment, I stormed back and knocked as loud as I could on Mike’s door. He had been in back during the whole thing.

  He opened the door. “What’s the problem? You are knocking very loud.”

  “Mike —”

  “I’m not deaf. You could knock quieter.”

  “It’s Turner. I was just out there, and he started talking to these girls I was serving, and I looked down, and he was stealing money out of my drawer.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re saying Turner was illegally removing fundage without change or recompense? Unbalancing the drawer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Deliberately?”

  “Yeah! I just saw him! I’ve been wondering why he’s being so nice to me, always coming over and talking to me. He’s been taking money the whole time.”

  “You say it’s been him, standing there, taking money out of your drawer.”

  “I like wondered what was going on. It was him the whole time.”

  “Could you come in here? Come in the office.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Sure, Mike.” We went in. He closed the door behind me. Behind him, Turner came along, saw us through the window, and waved cheerfully.

  “Listen here, Anthony. Listen up and listen good. You better be serious about this.”

  “I’m completely serious. He has a personal thing against me. He’s been trying to get me fired from the start.”

  “That is ridiculous. Turner is one of the most faithful and long-standing members of our O’Dermott’s family. Turner is sometimes not very nice, but he wouldn’t do something like this. Turner has been the Cashier of the Month four times.”

  “I am telling you, it wasn’t me! It was him! That day when I pulled the fire extinguisher?”

  “What, Anthony? Tell me, because this should be good.”

  “Turner told me to pull it.”

  “Turner did no such thing.”

  Turner appeared behind Mike’s head, in the window, making a frog face. He wagged his tongue.

  “Turner told me that was how to get the fries to come up.”

  “If Turner told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?”

  “So you admit Turner could have lied to me?”

  “Anthony, Turner is one of our most respected employees. You, on the other hand, have not been a model of good conduct. Do you understand? If someone were to say to me, ‘Is Anthony a model?’ I would have to say: ‘No. No, I’m afraid he’s just not.’ Now here’s what I don’t want to hear: You blaming everything on Turner. Because you’re not supposed to be watching Turner. You’re supposed to be watching Anthony. I don’t know if what you say is true. I don’t know whether it’s false. But I do know that anyone who paid attention, do you get me? Paid attention? Anyone who paid attention would not be getting into the scrapes you do. Just like on the softball field. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, but —”

  “I see I’m not understood. Who is in charge of your drawer? You are. That’s why it’s named ‘Your Drawer,’ ‘Anthony’s Drawer,’ okay? What goes into it and comes out of it is your business. A shortage or an overage is your business. Not Turner’s. Not Rick’s. Not Jenn’s. Yours. You’ve got to keep your eyes open, Anthony. You’ve got to stop blaming your own problems on others. You could lose your job for wrongly accusing one of your fellow employees. I could fire you right now. I should. If I looked in the manual, it would probably say, ‘Fire him.’ But I won’t fire you, Anthony. Why? Because I believe in you. I believe you can do better.”

  Mike opened the door.

  “I’m giving you one more chance. You have two weeks to shape up. Keep your drawer balanced. And if you make this kind of accusation about a respected employee again, you’d better have some kind of evidence to back it up. Otherwise, Anthony, I’m sorry. I’m going to have to let you go. People are lining up for these jobs. There are women who have to support families. Men who have been injured while at a previous worksite. There are kids who want to pay for college. A lot of people, Anthony. They
could all do your job, and do it better than you’re doing it now. So get your head out of the clouds. Put your nose to the grindstone. Start concentrating on your own performance, not other people’s. Is that understood?”

  “Mike —”

  “Understood?”

  Finally, I nodded. “Yes, Mike. That’s understood.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now get out there and replenish the beverages.”

  I went. Mike closed the door.

  That night, I wrote the next letter to Burger Queen. I sealed it. I stamped it. I sent it.

  So far as I was concerned, the Plan was on again.

  “Try to get it all up. Nobody wants to see that,” said Mike. He pointed at the floor. There was shake on the tiles. I nodded.

  Mike said, “Are you still on for the game Saturday?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ll be there.”

  “You’re not a very strong hitter. Our best chance with you is if the pitcher walks you.”

  “I’m good at running.”

  “It’s not a game of running. It’s a game of hitting. But you’re still a welcome addition to our team, Anthony. The different skills of different members of our O’Dermott’s family complement each other to make us stronger. Everyone has a role to play.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “When you’ve cleaned that up, go into the back and get a carton of danish. We need to replenish the danish.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Mike turned without a thank-you and walked away. I swabbed at the slime. It streaked pink and brown across the floor. I plunked the mop in the bucket. Foam from the shake drifted to the top of the water. The water was black. The foam was yellow.

  “Hey, man,” whispered Shunt. “Just dropped off the goods.”

  “What goods?”

  “These goods.” He pulled a sheaf of paper out of his jacket. “The script for the commercial they’re shooting here.”

  “You stole it?”

  “No. Dropped it off. I stole it yesterday. I made copies. Brought the original back just now while Mike and you were out here chewing the cud.”

  “You’re insane!”

  “Take a look.”

  I leaned the mop against the table. It slid to the side. I grabbed it and leaned it again. I took the script from Shunt. I read through part of it.

  I pointed. “What’s this?”

  “I made a few little additions.”

  “I could never tell. They fit in seamlessly.”

  “Yeah,” said Shunt. “That’s the beauty of it.”

  O’Memo

  From the Office of Charles Beaterson Tremlick, Director of Marketing

  “And which part did you write?”

  “Guess.”

  “I couldn’t possibly. You’re a master.”

  “Please, guess.”

  “You’re a master. How could I guess?”

  “You’ll learn. Subtlety is the thing.”

  “Anthony,” Mike called from behind the counter, “you’re on the clock. You’re not paid to talk to Shunt. Conversation with Shunt can happen on your own time. Concentrate. Clean up the shake.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “And then replenish the danish?”

  “Yes,” said Mike. “Then replenish the danish.”

  Jenn’s suggestion that Rick and I go for a hike was a good one. The problem was, our schedules didn’t work out. He was working the evening shift, and I was working the morning. Instead of a hike, we settled for a short walk. We went to the town forest. It wasn’t a bad day. The humidity wasn’t too high.

  There was an old access road that was the best place to park. It was just gravel. Clover grew between the two tire tracks. Moss too. It led back into the center of the woods. We parked at the foot of Party Hill. There were tall pines there, going steeply up the slope. At the top were a few circles of rocks filled with old ashes and garbage. Party Hill was a part of nature that smelled like old beer.

  At the foot of Party Hill was a wide pond. On the far bank, rushes grew.

  This was where a lot of kids camped out or had their keggers. You always heard stories about the skinny-dipping, and how many virginities were lost in the bushes. There weren’t, in fact, many bushes.

  The night before the big commercial shoot, there was going to be a party here. It would not be sanctioned by O’Dermott’s; Mike was turning a blind eye. We were having a party because everyone would have work off while the shoot was going on. Mike said that Management was going to come down for the shoot. Management had its own Staff. Management’s Staff would do whatever Management needed. There would be no need for the regular employees. No one would work on those four days. No one would get paid. So we were having a party.

  As Rick and I picked a path and went into the woods, we talked about the party, the ad, and the upcoming softball game against Burger Queen. We walked around hills and hummocks.

  The town forest had been farmland before the town bought it. There were still stone walls running through the woods. Occasionally, there were small stone foundations in the earth.

  I felt bad that I hadn’t seen Rick much since he got together with Jenn. Walking with him now, I remembered how smart he was, even if you had to stop him sometimes from climbing trees. He knew what was important to me.

  He said gently, hanging from one arm about ten feet above the ground, “You’re really messed up about this Diana thing.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed.

  “You confused?”

  “Of course,” I sighed.

  “What’s confusing?” he said. He let go and dropped. He crouched when he landed.

  “Lots of complicated things.”

  “Like what? Turner being a wankbaron? That’s not complicated.”

  “More like what I should have done.”

  “Done when?”

  “To keep her interested.”

  We walked for a minute in silence. The forest was tall. Blue jays were screaming high above our hair.

  Finally Rick said, “She thought you were great. She told Jenn she was way spun on you.”

  “She did?”

  “Not in exactly those words. Jenn and I made up the ‘way spun’ thing last week when we were baking brownies together.”

  “So how did Diana’s ‘way spun’ change into just friends?”

  Rick thought about it for a minute. “I don’t know.” He suggested, “Maybe she was waiting for some passion.”

  “You’re saying I didn’t paw her up.”

  “You’d know better than me, man.”

  “Don’t give me that. I respected her. That’s the thing. I didn’t want to be sleazy.”

  “Respect is fine, but there’s got to be passion.”

  “There was passion.”

  “I’m telling you what I think.” He started to climb another tree.

  I faced the other way. My arms were crossed. “How can I be fun and interesting and still not be a draw?” I protested. His feet swung near my head. I said, “Girls already have to put up with enough people like sleazing all up on them. That’s why respect is important. To quote the great Aretha, ‘R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Find out what it means to me.’”

  “Hey! Hey!” He pointed at me from the branch. “This is one of your problems. You’re always Mr. Irony. You’re never serious. You and Diana, completely sarcastic. Both of you.”

  “That’s what I liked about her. That’s what she liked about me. We didn’t take anything for granted.”

  “Yeah, well maybe you were sarcastic a little too much. Love is no joke, man. Maybe that’s something you should think about.” He rustled around in the tree. “Sometimes it seemed like you and Diana were making fun of Jenn and me.”

  “That’s not true. No way.”

  “Well, Jenn’s great. The thing about Jenn is . . . man, I think there’s some kind of animal living in this thing.”

  “Would you get out of there? I can’t talk to someone who’s upside-down.”

  “All the blood’s goi
ng right to my head.”

  He pulled himself right side up and climbed down. We kept walking.

  I said, “Everyone expects you to force yourself on people. To be like, ‘Hey, baby. I like the way you flap your hinterlands.’”

  “I don’t think anybody expects you to say ‘hinterlands.’”

  “Yeah, okay. To do some obnoxious come-on. But if you act on your desires, you’re gross. And if you do the opposite, act like Mr. Nice Guy, then you’re a weenie.”

  “You’re saying there’s no way you can be.”

  “Well, there is, there’s two ways — gross or weenie.”

  He thought for a minute, then said, “It wasn’t very clear sometimes what Diana wanted.”

  “No,” I agreed. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  He didn’t answer. We walked beside the river. Both of us kept an eye out for turtles. On the far side of the river, some people were building houses with three-car garages. The windows were just holes. The outsides were covered with paper.

  “Jenn and I are thinking about doing it,” he said suddenly.

  “You’ve talked about it?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “We’d be making out, and it would come up.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “So we’re going to. I don’t know, you know? Maybe I’m kind of forcing it, but you’ve got to talk about what you want. I mean, that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? That’s what they want, women, us talking about our feelings, you know? So, I’m like, well, this is what I want; why hide it? I’m like, ‘Come on. We’re ready for this.’ And she’s all, ‘I don’t know. I’m kind of frightened. I don’t know.’ So I was like, ‘Someday we’ll be old or maybe dead and then we’ll have missed our chance.’ Then I started to lay it on about like worms eating our guts and moss growing over our faces. That convinced her.”

  “You really are a charmer,” I granted him.

  “I guess I’ll probably buy her like roses or some nice cactuses or something to get her ready. We’ll go someplace good for dinner.”

  “In the paper there’s a two-for-one coupon at Friendly’s.”

  “Rockin’.”

  “So you’ve thought about it.”

  “Thought about what?”

  “Like, this whole question of what to do about sex. Whether it’s weak to give in to your johnson just because it wakes you up screaming.”