The New Grill Operator

 

(Jesus helped Bruce turn his life around.)

Yesterday, a new grill operator showed up for the overnight shift. His name is Bruce. The kid isn’t new to the Waffle House. In fact, he’s been with the company for many years. But he’s usually a morning guy. That’s where all the action is. The mornings.

I said, “How old are you, Bruce?”

He said, “Twenty-six.”

“Wow. You’re young enough to be my son.”

“I might look young. But there’s a lot of tread on my tires.”

I smiled at him. “Really? You’re still a child. How can there be tread on your tires?”

“I was homeless for almost two years. I was also addicted to crack.”

I shot him a puzzled expression. “Crack?”

He nodded. “I’d do anything for drugs. In fact, I used to beat up other homeless people just to steal their money. I’m not proud of myself. Yet the truth is the truth.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“You can say that again. He helped me out of the gutter.”

Waffle House is a rough crew. I can’t imagine assaulting hobos for drug money. It makes no sense to me. Besides, how much money does a bum usually carry? But I guess substance abusers aren’t the most logical people in the world.

Then he told me about another morning grill operator who’s in trouble with the manager. The cook’s name is Butch Li. He’s originally from Cambodia. I know the dude in passing. I see him from time to time at 7 a.m.

I said, “What the fuck did Butch do?”

“He keeps sassing the boss.”

I shrugged my shoulders while turning my palms to the sky. “Why would he sass the boss?”

“Butch has a problem with authority. He just can’t keep his fucking mouth shut.”

“But he barely speaks a word of English.”

“It’s all about the attitude.”

Waffle House has a huge turnover rate. I’ve only been working here for a few months, yet I’ve already seen four or five people get the axe. And you can’t blame the management. These folk are fucking batshit crazy. I shit you not.

Pork-Chop Jane was also working the shift. She was her usual self. Her entire family showed up at the restaurant, and she spent a good hour outside in the parking lot talking to them. Then they came inside to sit in a booth, and she gave them all free food.

After they left, her boyfriend visited, and she spent another hour by the dumpster smoking dope and sucking face with her latest flame.

I really should get a job selling cars. I think I could sell the crap out of them, and I wouldn’t have to spend any time washing pots and pans in the dish pit. Sadly, I’m fucking lazy. As I’ve said many times, the restaurant is only a five-minute drive from my humble abode.

The shift wasn’t very busy, and I only wrote nineteen tickets. Yet I still managed to make $200. Most of the customers were extremely nice. However, I did have a couple of Mexicans in the corner who ran up a $42 bill and completely stiffed me on the tip. I don’t know where these motherfuckers get the balls.