Homework 1

I smell fried. Like my lungs, the ends of my hair, the inside of chicken nuggets.
My job tonight is is drive-thru customer service, another 10:30 pm at McDonald's.
The headset beeps, followed by my standard, programmed lines.
The expected staticy answer, "Hi. Yeah. Three large fries."
I'm trying to clean all the fries off the floor, under the counter, out of the sink.
You interrupted my patterned tasks.
But watching outside, I know it's you. I see it, your ugly, silly giant car, the one you tell me about in the foggy mornings, offer me rides in. Watching, laughing, holding up the line to tell me stories and smile at me sideways.
Turning the bend, you know too. You're much older than I thought from far away. Your car is unusually full.
How nice to meet the family through the drive-thru window. Your wife, the passenger, the dog on her lap, talking about mortgages and plumbing, and the son's new car.
But your presumed monogamy launches my imagination.
My standard, programmed lines, "WelcometoMcDonald's how can Ihelpyou?"


Drive away, I'll get in you are mature and attractively settled you like my nails i like your graying beard scratching my neck brushing your jaw deep voice loosened collar no dirty work pants how cute you have earrings muscular arms tanned face. Own car own house own son own business own life. warm rooms, hands, legs


And you've been waiting behind the window. The passenger seat is still talking.
I'm pushing open the window, back to the standard, programmed lines, "Sorry, that's $6.34"
You act uninterested. I choose credit on your card.
Your wife, dog on the lap, looks out the window, still telling, unaware.
I smile,
you and your graying beard, muscular arms, tanned face, leans over and winks, then shifts into drive.