Hi everyone! I wrote this piece for my English class but really wanted to share this here as well. Have fun reading!
***
It is my turn to run The Desk, a murderous place that no one else could have survived. At least, no one else was willing to risk it. I lift my hand from the faux-granite counter and readjust the phone clenched between my head and shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I promise the driver should be there in about five to ten minutes.”
I hang up the phone and lean forward, placing my elbows on the counter and massaging my temples. The scent of Lo Mein fills the air. Before me, a snake of hungry customers forms, lining up along the wall. My mother shouts orders in Chinese behind me. Chefs with stained aprons lift the woks, coating the chicken inside with a soy-based, spicy sauce as flames erupt from the gas burners below. I click my ballpoint pen as a customer approaches. They could have been middle-aged. They could have had short, dyed-blonde hair spiked in the front. They could have had a set of round glasses, or a long, flowy dress. This one wore a leather jacket tied around their waist.
But I am ready.
“Sweet and Sour Chicken Combo. That comes with fried rice and an egg roll, right? Right. Chicken Fried Rice. Three Egg Rolls. Add some extra Sweet&Sauce. A container of Hot&Sour Soup. Large. With the crunchy noodles.”
The onslaught continues. I scribble down their orders on a two-colored menu—three colors if you believe the red of the clip-art chili is darker than the red of Zhong Hua Restaurant. It’s a restaurant in Duluth, MN—on Grand Avenue, which really should be named Grand Street because of the way it runs north to south. A restaurant that has one room, where the customers could see into the kitchen, where they could smell the smoke rising from the fires. A restaurant that is called “hole-in-the-wall” by all the Google reviews, a restaurant which I prefer to call cozy.
The onslaught continues.
“And General Tso’s Chicken, with no sugar. With no MSG. And two orders of Beef Lo Mein. A large order of the Barbecue Spare Ribs. Some Chicken&Broccoli. And, most importantly, three orders of the Cream Cheese Plain Wontons. My family loves those.” I circle it, writing the “X3” next to it in neat cursive. “Actually? Make it four. Also, make sure they put in the red sauce. Last time we didn't get any. We only got a small cup.”
I put on a fake smile.
“I am so sorry,” I say. But I don’t care.
“Of course.”
“Yes, no problem!”
“I will make sure they get it in there.”
“I promise.”
And they are finished. I have survived and defeated the beast.
“Your total is $123.62,” I tell them.
Thank you. I got this. I can do this. Just keep them coming.
The fluorescent lights above me flicker. The hum of the ventilation system grows louder. My mom—who runs The Desk, who works The Fryer, who packs the orders, who cooks GeneralTso’sChicken and ChickenW/MixedVegetables, who shields me from raging customers, who always comforts us when we drop Chicken Wings as they pack, when someone forgets to put the egg rolls in the bag, when someone cuts open soy sauce packets with a knife on accident—yelps behind me. I catch the surprised face of the customer I am helping. I spin around. The Cream Cheese Wonton container lays dented to the side, the plastic cover folded in on itself.
The wontons splay out on the ground.
I’m screwed.
A furious grunt escapes from behind me, and I turn with an arched back and flash an apologetic smile.
“I am so sorry. We’ll make a new one.”
“What the heck are you guys doing! Make me a new one!” they shout.
“Of course, ma’am.” We wouldn’t serve you this one anyway.
“Now my food will be cold!” No, it won’t. It takes 5 minutes. Max. Your food won’t be cold. I promise.
”We’ll get it started. Right away. It shouldn’t take more than five minutes.” Please don’t yell.
“Fine! I’ll be back in 5 minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They throw their bag down in front of us. It slides across the counter, bumping the 5-foot stacks of menus to the sides, and comes to a stop near the edge, almost as if they are playing the game I often see customers playing at the shaky dine-in tables—games that involve sliding salt and pepper shakers across the length of the table, games that often result in broken glass.
“The Barbecue Spare Ribs didn’t come with the fried rice or the egg roll like I wanted!” they shout. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the large order of the Ribs doesn’t come with fried rice or the egg roll.”
“I wanted the fried rice and the egg roll! I don’t understand why I am paying three extra dollars for neither of those things!”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but you ordered the large. Only the combination platter comes with the items you are looking for.”
“I don’t care! I want a refund for my entire order!”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t give you a refund. You’ve eaten all the food.”
They grab the bag. They toss it to the side. They turn and storm out. The Sweet&Sour Sauce drips down the wall, a bloodstain.
It is still my turn to run The Desk.
***
Well... I hope you guys enjoyed!