GRILL!: The Misadventures of an RV Park Fast-Fry Cook. Diane Stegman

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СКАЧАТЬ ORDER UP!” Bubba yells, and then to me he loudly says, “GO SIT YURSELF DOWN AND I’LL BRING YA SOME BREAKFAST.” It sounded like an order from a drill sergeant. I could use a large dose of comfort food anyway, so I go and find myself a seat. Helen prances off back to the register.

      I chose an empty redwood picnic table to sit at and take in the surroundings. The décor is ranch style. Large photos of cattle and steer hang on the wall of each booth. An old horse drawn carriage hangs precariously from the high log ceiling.

      “Hi. I’m Karen. Bubba says he’s gonna make you some breakfast. You want some coffee?” Karen is also in her early fifties, thin with short-cropped hair. She seems nervous or high strung in some way. She’s not too interested in me at the moment. I’m sure she has tons of things to do.

      “Sure, coffee would be great! Thanks.” I guess I don’t get to decide what I will be eating, and what’s the deal with all us fifty-year old women?

      After a few minutes, my breakfast arrives on two giant platters. One platter is holding three pancakes the size of basketballs with two ice cream scoops of whipped butter. The second platter has three fried eggs, hash browns, four pieces of bacon, and two slices of sourdough toast. I look over towards the kitchen and see Bubba leaning on the meat counter watching me. He tips his baseball cap in my direction. I smile back in acknowledgment. Good gawd! If I ate all this, I’d blow up! I might as well eat what I can while I can. I’ll bet this is some sort of rite of passage. If it means I can only pass if I eat the entire meal, then I will surely fail! I hear Bubba belt out with one of his loud laughs from over by the grill area. He is alone in there, so the laugh must be directed at me and his own private food joke.

      I whittle away at an edge of the pancakes, eat two eggs and part of the hash browns. I wrap the bacon in my napkin and put in it my purse for the dogs when I get a break.

      “We’ve got a lot of work to do. As soon as you’re finished, bring your plates to the sink and I’ll show ya what we need ya to do for now.” Karen was standing next to me with her arms piled with dirty platters from the tables. Her tone sounds irritated with me for eating. Maybe I should have refused the free breakfast. Was that the test? If so, I was set up to fail either way.

      The platters are as heavy as their size. I carry them over to the sink area and wait for Karen to finish ringing up a customer at the register. Bubba is at the grill on the other side of the wall, so I don’t have to look at him.

      “All righty! Here’s an apron. Get goin’ on these dishes. Then we have to make the potato salad for the barbeque. We also have corn to shuck, salad to make, beans to heat, fruit to slice, and sour cream containers to fill. I’m goin’ out to have a smoke!” Karen spins around angrily and disappears around the corner of the wall, heading to the door to the outside next to the grill. I hear her say something to Bubba, and they both start laughing.

      I turn to the sink and face my duty head on. The platters, bowls, silverware and pans are piled dangerously high. The dishwashing sink is filled with cold, dirty, sudless water and is also filled to capacity with dishes. Likewise, so is the rinse water. There is a large trashcan at the edge of the third and final sterilizing rinse sink packed with leftover food. I put on the gloves I find over on a rack, empty all three sinks, and then refill them with hot and sudsy, hot and clear, and hot with sanitizer. I scrape away all the wasted food into the trashcan. Karen who has finished her cigarette is clearing off more tables and bringing them to the pile. I do dishes for about two hours, changing the dirty water twice. I leave the pans for last. As I am about to dip a small Teflon fry pan into the sink, I am shaken to the core by Bubba’s roaring angry voice. “DON’T PUT THAT IN THERE! DAMN IT! DON’T EVER PUT MY PAN IN SUDSY WATER!”

      Was he watching me? And for how long had he been watching? Was he just waiting for me to get to his pan? I notice a few of the customers were looking in my direction to see what was going on.

      “What? I don’t understand.” I’m confused at his anger about this seemingly simple problem about a small pan.

      “IF YUR A COOK THEN YA KNOW NOT TO CLEAN THESE PANS IN DISH WATER, EVER! HERE, LET ME SHOW YA SINCE YA DON’T KNOW. YA TAKE A PAPER TOWEL AND WIPE IT LIKE THIS.” Bubba begins violently wiping his pan with the paper towel. He takes it back over by the grill with me following him and hangs it above the grill.

      “HERE! YA HANG IT HERE! NEVER WASH MY PANS!”

      “Listen Bubba. You really don’t need to be angry with me. I didn’t know that was the deal with the pans. You could have told me that without yelling. Why was it over there in the pile? I’m really a reasonable person. You can tell me what I’m supposed to do and not do. I follow instructions very well.”

      Bubba seems surprised that I am not mad right back. I think he expected me to blow, but I just don’t have confrontation in me. Never have. I’ve had to think about this a lot through the years and through the men that have had power over my life. I’ve pretty much come to the conclusion that some people thrive on debate and defense, that for them, this is a thrill, a blast, a passion. Personally, it shrinks me into a ball rolling away. I depart, leaving my debater to their personal agony and the emptiness of silence. I am happy, they are not. I save this kind of energy for more important issues or until I am pushed to the point of insanity, then they accidentally get from me the combative response they were looking for and I am left with shame. They are thrilled.

      It seems that the breakfast rush is over. I am finishing up with the last of the dishes when Karen walks over to a large oversized coffee cup stuck under the counter. She dumps out a pile of folded dollar bills and begins counting. She and Bubba are exchanging small talk about the events of the morning crowd. They seem to be pretty buddy-buddy, and I am not included in the conversation. Karen divides the tips, and hands Bubba his half. They do not offer any to me.

      “Good morning for us. Looks like fifty dollars a piece.” Karen announces.

      Wow, that sure will help when I start cooking! It pumps up the minimum wage thing to a more acceptable level.

      There are no customers at this point in the restaurant. I hear Bubba go into the cold storage unit, when he comes out; I hear the pop of a beer can being opened. Karen approaches me. “I need ya to start peeling the skin off these cooked potatoes. I’ll start getting the rest of the ingredients ready. When we’re done with that, I’ll need ya to get on the corn.” I hear the back door next to the grill open and shut. I also hear the golf cart rumbling outside. Goodbye Bubba. Have a nice day! You’re welcome you big jerk! What a bully! I feel my adrenalin flowing now. Why is it always a few hours late? I won’t be sucked into his negative energy.

      As soon as I have finished peeling the warm potatoes, Karen plops down a large bowl of boiled eggs. “Here, peel these too!” She is cutting up the potatoes and adding them to the giant bowl of potato salad. We are working side by side, yet so far away. I think I can warm Karen up to me at some future point. I feel that she could possibly need a friend; either that or she is having one hell of a menopause. Bubba has no excuse what-so-ever. He’s just a big, stupid, uneducated jerk! Oh dear, I think I’m getting an attitude. It’s too early for that!

      The space between the meat counter and the table we are currently chopping at is only wide enough for one body. Helen squishes past Karen and me, our butts uncomfortably rubbing together. She opens the meat counter and gets herself a large handful of hamburger, using a sheet of wax paper.

      “I guess I’ll have to cook myself some lunch since Bubba is off duty.” Helen says holding the mound of raw meat.

      “Nothin’s stopped you before. So what makes today any different?” responds Karen.

      Helen СКАЧАТЬ