They had me working at the other site, cooking. It was my first time over there, but the food was the same so what did it matter to me. I’d never made Japanese food before, but I seemed to do alright at it. Anyway, I was over there cooking.
The boss introduces me to the coworkers. They’re in their twenties, a kid, a girl. I’m twice their age. Boss says “This is Cole,” to them. They nod. Boss says their names to me, but I cannot remember them even right after he says ‘em.
About an hour into my shift, the kid, the delivery boy, is snickering with the girl, she’s the waitress. They’re saying things I cannot understand, obviously. Kid keeps looking over at me, giggling. I get to thinking about smashing his head in. Kid finally says, “Cole, my friend here,” nodding over to the girl, “wants to know if you’re playing a concert tonight?”
They both look me over and smirk. I’m in all black with a brown fedora. Black doesn’t show food stains as much and I was told to either wear a hat or a hairnet. Doesn’t seem so bad to me. The both of them are staring at me, actually wanting a response. I start to get angry. I look at the girl— you can tell she thinks she’s hot shit, but her face is too angled, too strong; she wouldn’t be worth a ten buck head job in most cities. Finally, I warmly say, “Yeah I’ll play a concert, if she wants to play with me.”
The kid continues to smile, then something hits his face and he remembers what American sarcasm is all about. He stops smiling. I wink at him.
“You know, Cole,” he firmly says, “she is my wife.” He’s trying to regain his grin, but unsteadily so. Young love. Aw.
“Oh yeah? Then you’ll have to get a ticket to our little show.”
Kid’s eyes narrow and his bottom lip moves. I’m left alone for the rest of the night and for the rest of the night I imagine what I’d do to him if he didn’t.