You Want Fries With That?

                                                                    YOU WANT FRIES WITH THAT?



    “I’m getting a job together.”
    “Yeah?  I already got a job.”
    “I know you already got a job, that’s why I want you for this job.”
    “You’re a bank robber.  I flip burgers.”
    “Exactly.”

    “You know I’m on parole? I gotta check in.  I gotta pass tests.  I can’t get into anything heavy right now.”
    “You like your job?”
    “What, flippin’ burgers?”




    “Yeah.  No.  It’s okay.  It ain’t hard, if that’s what you mean.  Most of the time I just do what I want.  The boss knows my story, so he cuts me some slack.”

    “You ever think about making a bit more doing what you do?”
    “You mean bumpin’ the drawers?  Nah, they do counts every night, I’d never get away with it. ‘Sides, there ain’t much to get away with.”

    “Can you run register?”
    “Hah!  You think they’re gonna let the parolee with the tats near the cash?  The manager locks his office whenever I’m around, and I can’t get near the safe.”
    “So you can’t run a register.”
    “Look, I didn’t say I can’t, jus that at my place, they won’t let me.”
    “So, can you run a register?”
    “Sure.  Anyone can do it.  I mean, most of the meals are right there, you just hit the buttons and take the money.”
    “And take the money.  That’s right.”
    “What’re you saying?  We’re gonna start a burger joint?  That’s great, man, just killer stuff.  You sure you haven’t had one too many disco biscuits?”
    “You’re a riot, Jeff.  No, we’re not starting a burger joint.  Now, I have to ask you again, if I needed someone to run a register, and do it like they were doing it for years, are you that guy?”

    “Well… back in ’86, when I was working at Bobby’s Burgers, you know, the little place outside El Paso with the big plastic cow on the roof, I filled in up front from time to time.”

    “Okay, so no.”
    “No.  Fine.  No if you say so.”
    “I say so.  Listen, if anything heavy happens, I’ll handle it.  You’ll be paid to do your job, not be a shooter, understand?”
    “Hey, no worries.  As long as I get paid like a shooter, not a grillman, y’know?”
    “I’ll take care of that.”
    “How big’s the take gonna be?”
    “I don’t know.  Pretty big.  Not, you know, like The Italian Job big, but enough to make it worth your while.”
    “How do you not know how big the take’s gonna be?”
    “Because the money isn’t there yet.”
    “Say that again?”
    “Never mind that.”
    “I just-”
    “How about the fryer?”
    “The fryer?  Seems simple enough.”
    “But you haven’t worked the fryer?”
    “No.  Like I said, I flip burgers.  I’m the grillman.”

    “Hmm.  Okay, well, we’d need a grillman eventually.”
    “For what?  What do you need a grillman for anyway?”

    “Let me just ask you this.  Do you know any more people like yourself?
    “Like me?  Nah, I’m an individual.  Like a snowflake.”
    “What I mean is-”
    “Wait, wait, let me guess.  You want to know if I know anyone else that’s done time and worked at a fast-food joint before?”
    “Exactly.”
    “How many criminals do you think worked fast food in their lives?”
    “I don’t know.  This is the first time I’ve ever asked.”

    “Hell, man. All of ‘em.”






    “Oh, my God, Carol, have you seen anything like this?”
    “I’ve seen lots of things, but a burger joint with a jet engine on the roof? Now that’s something special.”

    Louise shook her head as she guided her minivan into the line that poured out of the Jett Burger parking lot. From the looks of things, she wasn’t going to be trying the new restaurant any time soon.  That was all right with her.  She and Carol had taken the entire day off to try the new fast-food place.  Truth be told, both women fantasized about being able to pack up their desks and become traveling restaurant critics, of the fast food variety.

    The fact that both of them rarely wrote down their conclusions about each place bothered them not in the least.  If that man with the spiky platinum hair could get on the TV and talk about food, why, so could they.

    “I wonder if it’s true,”  Louise mused.
    “If what’s true?”
    “What they say in the commercials,” Louise replied as she signaled for a turn so she could merge into the parking lot line.

    Carol folded the Jett Burger menu up in her lap and sighed.
    “What do they say in the commercials?”

    “Well, they say that their name came from the jets they cook their burgers under.  I think I’ve even seen a commercial showing a burger sizzling under a little jet, but it looked like that thing on top of the restaurant,” she said, inclining her head towards the giant fiberglass jet engine perched proudly atop the glassy restaurant.

    “You’re making things up again,” Carol replied.  “These false statements will get you into trouble when we do our live reviews, young lady,” she said, wagging her finger at Louise.

    “Oh, hush!  I swear I saw something like that. Anyways, does that little cheat-sheet of yours say anything good?”
    Carol opened up the menu and took a brief look at it. She shook her head. “Nope, nothing good, as far as where the name came from.  Although their mozz sticks look to die for,” she said, waving the menu at Louise.

    “Stop that.  You know I can’t read while I’m driving.”
    “Sorry.  You know, maybe it’s something Joan Jett put together, you know?  Because there are two ‘T’s in Jett Burger?”
    “Very funny.  I think Joan may have loved rock and or roll, but nothing in my career as a listener would indicate to me that she’s a burger mogul.”

    Carol opened her mouth to reply.
    “Ooh, look, a parking spot!”  Louise shrieked, and swung the minivan in a tight ninety-degree turn that pushed both women against the side of van.

    “Well, let’s go in and eat, shall we?”



    The inside of Jett Burger was much like the outside, glassy in a retro-futuristic kind of way.  The walls were covered with pictures of early aviators, culminating in a massive panoramic picture of a Jett Burger, which seemed to stand alone in time, the background of nondescript mountains seeming to exist somewhere out of time, where the viewer could fill in the blanks of whenever he or she had seen such a thing. The pictures formed  a rough timeline that would seem to suggest that all of  aviation had lead up to the creation of Jett Burger.



    In the back, several men and one woman were working at a pace that would make a crew directly from Corporate look bad.  Each time an order came up, it seemed as if the cooks knew it in advance, and had the order ready to go in seconds.
    This, of course, earned Jett Burger a great first impression.  The second impression, which would come out in the news later that night, would not be so favorable.

    Carol and Louise were almost to the head of the line.  They could smell the tantalizing aromas of grilled burgers, and could see the orders of their fellow diners.  If anything, the menu Carol brought didn’t do the food justice.

    “Isn’t that amazing?”  Carol asked.
    “Mmmm?”
    “The food. I mean, look here,” she said, holding up the menu’s picture of a double cheeseburger. She held the menu up so the picture rested side-by-side with the real, steamy, cheesy burger, laying neatly in its little cardboard boat. 
    “The food looks better in real life.  It never looks better in real life.”
    “Well, I bet it tastes better in real life too.  Oh, time to find out, we’re up, girl!”

    The man who took their order wore a dark blue business shirt with  a tie. His nametag, which indicated that he was called Harry, was one of those stick-on kinds.  That struck Louise as odd.  Every nametag she’d ever seen at a fast food place had been the plastic pin-on type.
    “Hellowelcometojettburgermayipleasetakeyourorder?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Hellowelcometojettburgermayipleasetakeyourorder?”
    “I don’t-”
    “He wants your order, dummy,” Carol whispered from behind her.
    “Oh, I’m sorry.  I’ll have… the double Jett Burger combo with rings, and… an order of mozzarella sticks.”
    “Okayadoublejettburgerwithringsandmozzsticks.  Whattodrink?”
    “I’m really sorry, what was that last part?”
    “Whattodrink?”
    “Oh, um, Coke, please.”
    “Thankyouthat’llbesevenfortynine.”
    “Oh-kay,” Louise muttered, extending her credit card.
    “Cash?”
    “Um, no, credit today is fine.”
   
    Harry seemed to gather himself. He took a deep breath and spoke.
    “We’re doing a special cash program today, miss. If you pay with cash, we’ll round your total down to five bucks.”
    Louise turned and looked at Carol with something akin to shock. “Five bucks! Did you hear that!  It’s a steal.  Oh, I knew Amy should have come with us today.”
    “Yes, yes, just finish your order so we can get a seat.  This place is jumpin’.”
      Louise turned back and handed over a five-dollar bill.
      “Thankyoumiss.Forhereortogo?”
    “Ah, here please?”
    Harry nodded and motioned Carol forward.
    Louise’s food was up in a second in a little white bag.
    “Excuse me, sire, I said for here.”
    From the kitchen, a tall thin man with reddish hair strode up to the counter.  His nametag identified him as Mitch, the Manager.
    “I’m sorry, miss,” he said, his tone sooth with the practice of doing this a thousand times. “It’s not that we don’t want you to eat with us, it’s just,” he shrugged and smiled, waving his arms to take in the ordered chaos around him, “that we’re so darn busy, we slip every once in a while. Here you go.”
    Mitch expertly fished Louise’s food our of the bag and arranged it on a tray.
    “Thank you sir.”
    “No trouble at all!” Mitch said with a smile, and headed back towards the back.

    “I’m going to find us a seat,” Louise said, popping an onion ring into her mouth.
    “Well then, get going.  I’m starving over here!”


    By the time Mitch was back in the kitchen, his smile had faded. H walked around the fryer, back between the racks of the prep stations, and into the manager’s office and closed the door behind him.
    Leaning up against the manager’s desk, he pulled a flip-open knife from his pocket and began cleaning his fingernails.
    “You know,” he said slowly, “from what I can remember about the cash safe’s in these joints, they don’t have much money. Maybe a thousand dollars.”
    “They don’t.”
    “And we’re making that about every half hour, thanks to our new ‘cash special.’ You know, it’s a shame we can’t run off with the credit transactions, but as you can see, Mr. Lambert, we’re not exactly high-tech.”
    “I can see you’re crazy.”
    Mitch regarded his guest levelly. The man was duct-taped to his chair, and had a swollen black eye and a nasty split lip.
    “Well, yes.  Nothing like what we’re doing here has ever been tried before. So, crazy, yes, Mr. Lambert, I agree.”
      “However,” Mitch said, standing up and walking towards Lambert with the knife extended, “I intend to get every red cent out of this place.  And that means the safe, and whatever’s in it.  Now, I want that combination.  And this is the last time I’ll ask”
    Lambert spit at him, saliva and blood spattering Mitch’s shirt.
    “Screw you.”
    Mitch wiped absently at his shirt.  “I’m afraid you’ve exhausted the last of my patience, sir, and since I can’t seem to get you to be reasonable, I will forgo the cash in the safe.  You sir, will not be so lucky.  Now hold still.”
    Lambert struggled, but in the end, Mitch covered his mouth with a thick layer of duct tape.
    When Mitch came for him with the knife, Lambert would have screamed if he could have.  He would have screamed quite a bit.

    Before Carol and Louise left, Louise did one thing that, under ordinary circumstances, would have been quite normal.

    She peeked into the back to see if Jett Burgers were really cooked with jets.
    Instead, she found Mitch.

    He was sweating heavily, and walking briskly from the manager’s office to the employee’s bathroom.  He stopped for a moment, as if he had forgotten something. Then he turned and looked directly at Louise.  She could see he had something in his hand that was stained red.

    “I’m sorry, miss.  I’m afraid you can’t be back here.”  The employees looked up at her as they continued work.  Absently, she thought that she had never seen so many tattoos in one place before.

    “I’m sorry,” she said, her face flushing.  “I just wanted to see if Jett Burgers were really cooked with jets.  Silly, I know, right?”

    Mitch took a step towards her.  And then another.
    “No, miss.  We use ovens like everyone else.”




    Outside, Carol sat in the passenger seat of Louise’s minivan and rubbed her stomach.  That was the problem with really good food, she thought.  You wanted to eat more, because it tasted so good, but you just couldn’t.  You were out of room.
    “One of life’s little conundrums,” she sighed, and popped a leftover fry into her mouth.
    She chewed contentedly and idly wondered what was taking Louise so long.

    Behind her, in the back of the parking lot, a tall redheaded man was helping two other men heave a large black sack into the back of a dark blue Astro van. It took all three of them to get the sack through the back doors.  One of the men tossed a pair of briefcases in after the sack.  The man with red hair rubbed his hands together as if to clean them and closed the doors.  He spoke briefly with the men, and left one out by the van as he and the other man walked back inside the Jett Burger.

    Carol had dozed off waiting for Louise. Consequently, when the door slammed, she woke up with a start and a little scream.

    “Can you believe it?”
    “Can I believe what?”

    “They don’t use jets,” Louise said, shaking her head.  She started the van.
    “I knew it.”

    “You know, that manager guy, Mitch? He’s very nice.”
    “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know about that.  The food was good though.”
    “Mm-hm.  Let’s eat here again sometime.”
    “You got you a deal, sister,” Carol sad as she popped another fry into her mouth.

    As Louise expertly navigated the crowded parking lot, more men with briefcases exited the back of Jett burger and put their score in the back of the Astro van.