"And five twenty-two is your change," Chloe said. "Please step this way
and your order will be right up." She sighed slightly. "May I help the next
person?"
But the next person was disoriented by Fry Land's assembly-line
system, which required a person to place an order, step to the right and
huddle with a cluster of strangers while waiting for food to appear.
"I can help you over here," Chloe said in the lost man's direction.
No reaction.
"Hi," said a smiling, well-dressed blond woman who seemed to
have appeared out of nowhere. "How are you?"
"I'm alright; how are you?" Chloe responded with a smile to
match the woman's, and proceeded to take her order, all the while relishing
the woman's polite, respectful manner
.
But as she was handing back the woman's change, Chloe's mind took off.
I know why she's being so sweet and polite to me, she thought. She feels
sorry for me. She thinks she's a charitable person because she pretends to
treat simple, uneducated Fry Land employees as equals. Oh, how I hate this
uniform.
Her head was beginning to throb above her right eye.
"I can help someone over here," she called not as loudly as
she could have.
She sighed at the lack of reaction from the mass of people.
Her mind began to wander again. Should I put this little career move on
my resume , she wondered, imagining herself at a job interview. She would
be wearing a skirt suit and panty hose; her hair would not be mashed under
a stupid Fry Land uniform visor. On the prospective employer's desk would
be Chloe's portfolio of artwork: logos and product illustrations exploding
with color, calling out, "hire this artist, she's amazing."
"I see here your last job was at Fry Land," the man behind
the desk would say with more than a hint of disdain.
No. She would not allow such a conversation. She would have
to pretend these past few weeks never had happened. At the moment, she wished
it really never had, even though it was the only job she could find at the
moment. Maybe she would have done better by not taking a job. Being a housewife
sounded more dignified than her current position.
"Are you open?" demanded a woman with shoulder-length curly
brown hair, and Chloe snapped back from her daydream.
"Yes, I am," she said, trying to force a smile. "May I help
you?"
"Well, it's just awfully hard to know, with all these people,"
the woman snapped. "I'd like two waffle cones."
As Chloe totaled the woman's purchase, she tried to retain
a professional demeanor. The mob of hungry people had died down and there
were no more orders to take, but Chloe was stuck here with this hateful woman
while another employee made the cones. Those were the rules.
She wished she could be doing anything else (perhaps dumping
scalding French fry grease on her arm) so she would not have to stand, fake-smiling
at this woman.
I need a special nametag, Chloe thought, rather than
this one that says 'Chloe, in training.' I need one that says, 'Chloe, artist,
holds a bachelor's degree.'
How could this be
, she asked herself, that I am here, forced to smile and cater to an
angry public, no matter what, under the pretense that the customer is always
right? When am I going to get out of this rut and into a world where I can
hold respect?
She replayed bits of yesterday's evaluation in her mind. "You
need to smile more, make a better connection with the customer," her boss
had said. "Remember, the customer is the reason we're here, and it's your
job to bend over backwards when necessary to make that customer feel special."
She rubbed her temples thinking back to those words. She was
failing at this job. No matter how hard she tried, she really was not good
Fry Land material. She felt tears welling up. Hurry, think of something
positive , Chloe told herself, and went back in her mind to the job she
had held after college graduation. Every day was a new, creative adventure,
and the praise she received from her superiors fueled her energy to create
amazing things.
"Brilliant," Mr. Jacobs had said, admiring her last project
before the small company had gone under. "You truly are gifted."
How could she be so good at art and so bad at fast food? Why
couldn't these people see she was not an imbecile; why couldn’t they recognize
that she was brilliant, gifted?
She had to hold onto hope that the day would come soon when
she and her husband would move to a city booming with opportunities for a
talented young artist.
"Chloe, go on break!" barked a voice from the direction of
the fry vats.
She clocked out and joined the herd so she, too, could order some food.
In the break room, she put her head on the table. The door
opened, and a dark-haired young woman about her age walked in. She must
be new , Chloe thought.
"Hi," the woman said with a smile that looked less urgent than
the ones most of the Fry Land employees wore.
"Hi," Chloe replied. This woman looks fairly intelligent
and, better yet, she seems real, Chloe thought, I should talk to her.
"I'm Chloe."
"I'm Julia."
"How do you like it so far?"
"I don't know," Julia said with a shrug and a smile that tilted to the
right. "Today's my first day. I just moved back into town a few weeks ago.
I was living in the city, working for a greeting card company when I found
out my mom was sick, so I quit and moved back. It's tough finding work around
here," isn't it?
Chloe felt the throbbing in her head begin to let up, and
she released a long, happy sigh.
"Yes," she said. "It is."
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