Her craftsmanship is sloppy, but boy does she make the incorrect sandwiches quickly! “How’s it going, Fe?” I ask. “Not bad at all, let me tell ya.” She wraps up the burger. I hand the burger to a shirtless, maybe 65-year old man. Who let him in? Who took his order? His gut is tremendous and his chest hair covers the span of his torso. Is there anyone in his life who can tell him this is unacceptable behavior? When I turn back to the station, Felicia is putting ketchup, pickle, and onion (hamburger/cheeseburger toppings) on a BLT, which is supposed to have mayo, tomato, and lettuce. I ignore it. “How’s school going?” I ask. “I dropped out of there a while ago. I can’t be bothered. No more am I gonna waste the gas driving back and forth from Suffolk (Community College fifteen minutes away from Wendy’s) all the time.” I decide I need some water and manage to escape with a vague nod that I hope comes off as understanding. At this moment, my manager, Jodi, comes out of her office and tells me to go on break. She says something obnoxious to whoever was in the storeroom and walks back into her office like she’s Madonna in 1985. Alec Killeen is at the back register by the break area, taking cash from the customers and organizing it in the register. I was put on back register once and was so confused by the money transactions and the process of entering totals on the computer that I ended up giving customers whatever change they told me I owed them. Since then, no one has tried to train me on anything other than sandwiches. “What up?” Alec asks me. “I have the plague,” I reply. Alec and I have gone to school together since kindergarten and have now entered our final year together. After hitting it off in
24