Black Box 86ed

by Kjelland, Andrew

  “O, fine,” I reply.

  “Thank ya sweetie, dishes are soaking whenever you wanna get to em.”

  “Ok,” I reply heading to the bathroom to change into my uniform. I pass the front register where Mike is helping two larger than life women starring hungrily at the menu (and I mean a solid 350 pounds).

  “Prick” he says under his voice. I just turn smiling and wave not breaking stride towards the bathroom.

  CHAPTER…

  It may seem like an odd friendship but Mike and I have been inseparable almost our entire lives. I swing the bathroom door open and walk in. We met in kindergarten and have been friends ever since. I still remember the day we started hanging out. We made a tank out of building blocks and played army.

  I don’t know why but I’ve been overly reminiscent lately. All my memories with Mike suddenly flood through my head. Sneaking cigarettes in the fifth grade from his mom and smoking them behind their trailer. Or the time we took a six pack from his mom and drank it behind the trailer. Huh, wow our entire friendship seems to be just sneaking things from his mom and doing them behind his trailer. Maybe not all of them but I must admit it seems like we did that a lot. I remember one afternoon his mom had just got home from the bar. (She worked third shift and would sit at the bar all day till we got out of school.)

  “Look what I found,” Mike whispered as if his passed out mom would wake up.

  I look at him, seeing what at the time looked like a funny skinny cigarette. “What is it?”

  “I don't know, but we should smoke it.”

  “O man I don't know what if you mom finds out.”

  “O c'mon you know as well as I do she just thinks she misplaces everything we take.”

  This was very true, I’m sure there are textbooks where she would qualify as an alcoholic and even if she weren’t looking back now she probably wouldn’t have cared anyways.

  “Fine but we need to go behind the house though.”

  We stood up taking one of those long lighters made for candles and sneak out the back door. I remember my heart racing as I followed him. Crouching behind the bushes we light up. He took the first hit, his face turning instantly to one of disgust as he choked out the smoke.

  “Holy crap, it tastes so bad.” He gasps handing it to me.

  Bringing it to my lips and taking the tiniest drag, yet it still hit me like a wall of bricks as I choke out the smoke.

  “God I don’t think this is supposed to be smoked, who would want to smoke something that tastes so bad?

  “I don’t know. Maybe we should have eaten it?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I feel a little weird though is, is it working?

  “I don't know. I don't feel anything.”

  I hand it back him, he takes the smallest hit like I did breathing it out a little more smoothly this time.

  BAM! BAM! BAM! “Anyone in there? Imma bout to piss myself.”

  “Almost done,” I yell back. I realize I stopped peeing a good minute ago and am just standing here, reminiscing with my dick in my hands. I quickly zip up, put on my Mcshirt and open the door. It's Mike, “Jesus what do you want.”

  “I'm just here to say I forgive you.”

  “What? You started it.”

  “Now let’s not get into who started what, and who did what to whom. “I’m just saying I forgive you and you may go in peace.” He says drawing a cross in the air.

  “O thank you pastor I’m so relieve.”

  “You have to let me hit you though.”

  “What? No.”

  “You know we need to be even. I feel like I’m down one, so for the sake of our friendship I must hit you.”

  “O for Christ sake just punch me in the shoulder,” and as soon as I finish my sentence he hits me a little harder than I would have liked. “Feel better?” I ask rubbing my shoulder.

  “Yes, yes sir I do.”

  “Fine, let’s get back there I'm starting to make some serious inroads with your mom.”

  “OOO, real funny man I think I should get another hit. Oh, I’m gona buy a scratch off be there in a sec, and you still gotta make those monstrosities their food.”

  “Fine,” I sigh. Turning the corner passing the two behemoth women scowling at me, obviously upset about the casual nature of this particular McDans. “Sorry about the wait,” I tell them.

  “You wash your hands?” One of them spits at me.

  Immediately realizing I forgot to with Mike distracting me. “Yep sure did.”

  “They look dry to me.”

  “Well I dried them.” Ignoring their huffs of disapproval, I walk back into the grill, turning to the bun toaster throwing their buns in. My eyes instinctively glaze over preparing for another day in this McHell hole.

  Grace closes tonight though so I suppose it’s all for a good cause. I will craft every word, every joke, and every gesture towards her being mine after tonight. I stare at the bottom tray of the toaster waiting for the buns to drop. Its heat brushing softly again my face as the gears slowly turn inside. Plop, plop they drop and I quickly puzzle piece their mcburgers together throwing them onto a tray, they quickly swipe it and scurry away to the far end table to stuff their faces and stare at their phones.

  Dam I’m starting to think I’m a little pessimistic. These could be super nice people who are just really hungry. But I’m just unable to see them that way. Maybe I’ve become callus from working here too long, or maybe, maybe I’m just an asshole. I'll have to think more about it later, although I’m leaning towards the latter.

  This is what I’ve accomplished. Nineteen years and counting reaching my true potential one cheeseburger at a time. Right about now is where I would start my slide show of excuses. That I’m a victim of circumstances. But... I don't know. It just feels like if I was to nut up and really try at something I could accomplish almost anything. It’s just... When I look at the world, at people. It takes an entire lifetime and a lot of luck to do something truly worth being proud of. I just feel that I would be perfectly happy with a bunch of little accomplishment. Maybe I’m a big picture guy, or I’m just lazy and scared of failure so I just set my sights low. It's weird the position I’ve gotten myself in. I feel as though I'm meant to be better. That I’m supposed to be better than just working at a fast food job. Only question is what qualifies as better? Is it a paycheck? It sure as hell seems to me that the only real accomplishment you can have is getting fat stacks no matter how much of your soul and life you have to piece meal out to get it.

  I'm just not ready to do that yet. I wouldn't say I’m happy. Content seems to be more like it. Content with waking up, playing video games all day, getting dressed, smoking a bowl on my walk to work and doing an easy brain dead task in which I make only a penny more an hour than it would be to be illegal. I don’t know. I’m not ready to accept the fact that life is one long series of habitual compromises and shitty situations ultimately leading to a wife, two kids, a dead end job, and a retirement plan. And that’s a good ending.

  But then there’s Grace. Maybe that's why I’m still here. Just so hopelessly lost in her that I'm letting the time and my future pass me by. I'm not blaming her, far from it. When I'm with her I smile and wave at all the opportunities that pass me by.

  I grab a bun out of the metal cart next to the toaster and drop it in, I’m so hungry. Dam the way I talk about her sounds a little obsessive, doesn't it? I'm not sure if it is or not but all I know is that it's torture. I'm pretty good at reading people and situations but when your friends with someone for so long and all the barriers are gone, there is a razor thin line between BFFs and finally getting her almost completely naked after a near hemorrhage to the brain over whether or not she's ready to take her top off and you finally have her black g string being slowly pushed down her.

  The bottom of the bun drops... ahem getting back to my topic. I suppose that if I were to take cues from movies the next logical step would be friends with benef
its anyways. I could get use to that.

  Dam the top of the bun must be stuck; I think karate chopping the ‘caution hot as fuck’ sign on the toaster, its metal frame rattling with each blow.

  Then one day she would become so overwhelmed with feelings for me that she would run to the airport right as I was about to board my plane across the country. Begging me to stay, that she couldn’t live without me. I would say yes of course but only after a long dramatic pause causing the heartstrings of everyone within a twenty-foot radius to snap like rubber bands.

  Seems like a stretch but I think it would be a fitting. Dam maybe I should see a shrink. The top bun finally drops out burnt and cajuny. I'm not obsessed am I? I wonder as I bring both buns to rest in a Large Mark box. How thick is the line between just being in love with someone and being in love with someone and it becoming a problem? Grabbing a hand full of lettuce placing it on both buns. I should watch more movies. Wait, no I should read more books. They would be more descriptive, more relatable. Grabbing for the Mark sauce I drown it in thousand-isle goodness. I guess that if I even feel the need to ask if I’m obsessed I already have the answer. I should take a break maybe. I’ll skip the party and see how she reacts, and I'll be distant tonight. Just to see just to see the look in her eyes.

  “Heyyy,” a voice serenades behind me, as arms reach around grabbing the Large Mark box. It's Grace and before I can even test out my new found plan, all I can think about is how my reflection in her huge round blue eyes, are capturing an idiot trying to keep his insides from becoming outsides.

  “Thanks for making me dinner Willy!” She smiles taking the big mark box.

  “Who do you think you are?” I ask smiling as I reach for the box. I feel myself slowly sinking back into the personal niche I’ve carved into her head.

  She quickly raises it over said head. “O you have to be quicker than that,” she laughs.

  “Hey I have no problem putting a woman in her place.”

  “Whoa, whoa look who grew some balls?”

  God what do I do? I think to myself. This is not a situation where you can just shrug off, where you can just act nonchalant.

  “Some boss you are picking on your employees.”

  “O like you listen to me anyways you just go out and smoke all day while you make poor me watch the whole store. Look I’m already breaking a sweat trying to keep my subordinates from stealing company product.”

  “Subordinates! Look who’s been watching those manager videos again.”

  “Why yes I have, they aren’t too bad after a few shots, o that reminds me.” She waves me to the back room.

  I turn the corner as she produces a fifth of cheap whiskey from her purse. “Ok well we can trade the Large Mark for the bottle.”

  A sly smile crossing her face, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

  Mike’s mom pops around the corner from her cigarette/bunion-healing break. “Now honey what’s a pretty little thing like you doing with something as horrible as that cheap shit?”

  “It makes Will tolerable to work with.” She jabs as they both break out in laugher.

  “O, ok that’s cool,” I retort. “I guess I should just go home then huh?”

  “O don’t be so sensitive! Should we all take one real quick?” Grace asks.

  “Way ahead of you honey,” Jody says producing a flask. “And it not filled with that paint thinner you have there.”

  Grace runs around the corner and comes back with three cups. “Where is he?” She asks.

  “Who Mike? He’s getting scratch offs and probably out smoking.”

  “Ok we’ll wait then. I can’t believe he’s still goin. You think he’s gona be all right?”

  “O he’ll be fine, Obama said the wars are gona be over soon anyways. I’m sure by the time he’s service ready we’ll be out of Iraq and Afghanistan.” I encourage.

  “Ya he seems just dumb enough to make it out all right.” Jody quips rolling her eyes at me.

  “Whoa, my ears are burning you guys mind not talking about me behind my back?”

  “How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough to know just how heartbroken all of you will be when your military hero in training leaves for basic.”

  “O please you’re going to get there realize you can’t do pushups, shoot yourself in the foot and come home.” I retort.

  “Well at least I’ll have a purple heart.” He smiles.

  Grace hands the plastic shot glasses around the group. “This is America!” She Spartan shouts into the glass before downing it. I take mine choking it down from trying not to laugh at her.

  “I remember my first beer,” Mike smirks.

  “Hey, it was funny ok.”

  Grace just smiles as she pours me another one. “Come on now Will, I can’t have you passing out on me after just one shot.”

  CHAPTER…

  “Hello?” Someone yells from the front of the store.

  “O, shit,” Jody exhales, “Will please go get him.”

  “Aww fine.” I turn to go take the customer’s order when Mike grabs my shoulder.

  “Imma take off now but I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Ok sounds good man,” we bump fists and I run to the front.

  “Don’t breath towards him!” Jody yells to me.

  I instantly recognize the customer as a regular. Greg… ah I can’t remember his last name but he’s an old fart with what I guess you can say is a lack of social graces.

  “What the hell kind of restaurant is this?”

  “Not a very good one,” I reply as he smiles at me.

  “How ya doin kid?”

  “O you know living my life to the fullest.”

  “Ha I hear ya, which is surprising cause I left my hearing aid at home.” (He’s talking about his wife)

  “Maybe one of those nice girls over there are looking to help a fine guy like you out,” I wink at him.

  “O lord, I think they should probably help someone with a more comparable gravitational pull,” he winks back.

  One of the girls heads dart up, her face almost concaved from the pissed off frown on it. (By social graces I meant he’s a dick without knowing it sometimes)

  “Aaahhhh, so are you getting anything, or are you just here to distract me from work?”

  “Ah why don’t ya just get me a cup of coffee and we can call it a day.”

  “I thought that was you I heard talking.” Jody yells walking up to us, “you didn’t let Will take any of your money now?”

  “No mam, he’d probably just pocket it anyways.” He tells her with a smile.

  “O watch it now don’t need you putting any ideas in his head.” She jokes followed by her trademark smoker’s laugh.

  I stand there pretending to be interested but the thing is when you work in the food industry you’re going to have the same ten or eleven conversations a million times, and it’s all just old people banter. From the weather to ah well what the weather is going to be like in a few days, you will accrue a quarter million jokes about every possible weather scenario by your third month working.

  I suddenly realize the two of them staring at me. “Will, you gona get that or what?” Snapping out of my daydream I turn to the fry vat beeping at me. I pull em; dump em, and salt em leaving them to bask under the infrared heat lamp that will literally give you a sunburn if you work the fry station during lunch rush. Immediately heading straight to the backroom, trying to avoid a long drawn out conversations about something I’m probably marginally versed or interested in. Taking the only chair in the break room I sit staring blankly at the monitors watching the front and drive through.

  Grace turns the corner. “Well, well, well,” she smiles at me you can tell she’s gotten pretty tipsy. “Looks like another night of getting paid to sit.” She dances over to me, sitting on my lap. “So, I was watching the discovery channel today and they said in ten years the Amazon will only be
eighty percent of what it is today.”

  “What? No that can’t be true.”

  “I swear, people think ya know, hey it’s the jungle the soil has to be really good right? Nope the top so is so thin they can only plant a year or two worth of crops and it’s all used up. I just kept thinking, Jesus we don’t deserve to live on this planet anymore.”

  “Ha I don’t know if it’s that bad.”

  “O it is. We don’t even deserve dirt. Cause what’s the only thing that comes from dirt?”

  I stare blankly at her not following at all.

  “Life! Life is the only thing that can come out of dirt. Whether it’s a flower or the bubonic plague it’s all one hundred percent life. And what do we do with it? We kill it!” Making a hand gesture like she’s breaking a log in half. “We cut it down, chop it up, eat it, smoke it, pop it, snort it, and insert it rectallllyyyy!” She says pretending to struggle to shove God knows what up a you know what.

  “I don’t think this is a time to talk with your hands.” I advise.

  She laughs but continues. “We cut it down because it’s blocking our view of stuff blocking other peoples’ view. Then we work forty hours a week selling other peoples view to pay the rent on our own view. We roll the stuff around itself and smoke it to deal with the pressure of keeping it, and when it finally gets to us we have to take it once a day with a meal so we don’t die from it all. In the end all we have done is taken years off of and out of our lives and for what? Just to be able to look around and see that what use to be our view has just been stolen, inventoried, and sold.”

  “So, how do you think we should fix it?”

  “Space travel!” She giggles.

  “Really, that’s your master plan?”

  “Defiantly, makes total sense. Just take off to mars and fuck up that planet instead. We would designate earth as, oh I don’t know, the school of evolution. When we leave earth it’s like, hey we just graduated! Right now the whole human race is just a bunch of super seniors walking around the halls thinking we’re the biggest bad asses. When in all reality we are just making it harder on everyone else by asking the same old stupid questions, making the same old dumb mistakes, and taking time and resources away from other beings that need it.”