The Job G.Z.

The warm rays of the beaming sun flashed down through the wide windows. The feeling of the sun touching my face had always felt good, though it did partially blind me as I tried to work. I had forgotten how busy it would become when it wasn’t the cold and bitter months of the year. School was out, people had more time. Well, more specifically, kids. And they were always hungry. I always knew our food was good. However, for some reason, in the three months of the year when it’s warmest, people would flock to get our warm and piquant slow-smoked barbecue. It didn’t matter who it was—could be a group of blue-collar workers, Nascar pit crews, or Chris Sununu—the juicy, flavorful, smoked ringed meat would captivate everyone and anyone. It wasn’t that people didn’t stop in during the frigid seasons, but less people than summer would ever attract. Perhaps it was the melancholy weather along with the hushed dark nights that tampered with people's minds, pushing them away. The nostalgic smell of oak wood burning gradually filled my nose once again. Glancing over at my manager unloading the smoker, lost in my mind, almost forgetting I was at work thou“Hello?” I snapped my head abruptly over to the girl from which the sound came. Was she talking to me?

“Hello?” Awkwardly, we made eye contact as I squinted my eyes in her direction. Luckily my manager stepped in, failing to realize that she was trying to talk to me. I felt a drop of sweat slowly roll down my forehead like sap coming out of a tree. This was going to be a long few months.