How I Got to Be the Night Manager

by Richard T. Hellinga

“Sean, how long should I do this?” asks Theresa from the back. She’s the new girl.

I poke my head through the open doorway to the back room, point to the gray bin underneath the slicer, and say, “Like I said before, until that bin is totally full.” She’s turned sideways to me, so I see the nice shape her butt makes in her jeans. She’s a little young for me.

“We need that much?”

“Yes. And we’ll probably need more later on.”

“All right,” she says, pulling down the handle of the slicer. The potato slices fall into the bin. She don’t look too thrilled but hey, the grunt work’s gotta be done. And new hires like Theresa, no matter how cute they are, always get the grunt work. Doesn’t mean you don’t have to do it once you’re a regular employee because I still do it when it needs to be done, you know, like when we’re short or there’s some downtime. Besides, it’s gonna get busy tonight, like every Friday night.

“Let me know when you’re done.”

She puts a potato in the slicer and pulls down the handle. “Okay. Did Jimmy come in to get his check yet?”

“How’d you know he quit?” I ask.

Theresa gives me this smart look like I should be able to figure out how she knows without asking how she knows. “I talked to him in school today.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“’Cause I wanna talk to him.”

“No. You can talk to him all you want in school. You’re supposed to be working. Not talking to your friends, or ex-employees especially.”

She brings the slicer down on another potato. “Yes sir, Mr. Bossman.”

“I’m not in the mood for it. It’s gonna be busy. I want to see that bin filled with fries.” If she thinks I’m tough, she should work the day shift under Chris. That woman doesn’t compliment anybody. When you do get a compliment from her, you savor it as long as you can, ‘cause it ain’t likely that you’ll hear another one from her anytime soon. But you know you did good, and that’s something to know.

In the front it’s empty except for the dark-haired guy sitting in a booth by the windows. He ordered an Italian sausage sandwich with red sauce and green peppers on it, fries, and a large Pepsi. He’s just eating there, looking out the window at the rush hour traffic. It’s slow now, the calm before the storm. In about an hour this place will be busy. I hope Jimmy comes soon. Get it over with. Don’t wanna have to deal with him during a rush. In one of the cubbyholes beneath the register is Jimmy’s last check. If he doesn’t bring in his shirt, he’s not getting his check. That’s how it works. I told him on the phone and if he doesn’t like it that’s too bad. You can’t just quit and keep the stuff we give you to do your job here. It’s a hot dog stand not a soup kitchen.

I grab a damp towel and wipe down the counter; give it a good once over while there’s time to do it. There’s always something to do here. Never a slow moment. Whether it’s cutting fires, wiping down the counter, or checking to make sure we’ve got enough hot dogs in the boiler and buns in the steamer (and I see that we do), it’s a busy day at this place. Someday I want to own it or a place just like it. Or at least be a co-owner. That’s how Chris did it. She started in high school at the bottom and worked her way up to Night Manager like me, and then saved enough to buy half with Tom. If she can do it, I can do it.

A customer comes in, an older woman in a blouse and skirt with a dark blue purse hanging on her shoulder. She looks like she works in an office. It’d be real nice to have a job in an office with a secretary to do things for you, like my mom does for her boss. I can barely get the people here to do what they’re supposed to.

“Hello. What can I get for you?” I say.

She gives me a long order, probably buyin’ dinner for the whole family. I ring her up and start to work on gettin’ everything together. It’d be easier if we had one more person up front with me tonight. If people would stop quitting I could stop having to work so much and spend more time with my girlfriend Bonnie who’s always nagging me about all the hours I work. The extra hours kind of suck sometimes, but the extra money never does. And in the Fall I might take some business classes at Triton, you know. Learn a few things about running a business. Not that I’m not learning a bunch here at the Dog House, but some formal education can’t hurt.

Once I get the order together I set it on top of the counter. She takes it.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Thank you very much. You have a good night.”

“You, too.” She leaves.

I grab the towel again and wipe off the counter next to the hot dog toppings. Some onions and relish fell.

“How’re those fries comin’?” I shout towards the back.

“They’re fine,” Theresa shouts back.

“How much you cut so far?”

“It’s like a third full.”

“Keep goin’.” Always goin’, always lookin’ for ways to improve. I even cut my hair. I looked around at the bosses and neither Tom or Chris have long hair, you know. It’s the little things that sometimes count for a lot.

The guy at the window slides out of the booth, dumps his garbage in the bin and sets his tray on top, then leaves. I come out from behind the counter and go over to the table where he was sitting at. There’s a tiny bit of salt and some ketchup spilled on the table. Bonnie says I’m crazy about stuff like this, but it’s the little things that leave an impression on customers, who only notice when things go wrong. They take it for granted that things always go right because that’s what they’re payin’ for, and I don’t blame’em for thinkin’ that way. My father told me that about his job as a janitor at the high school...I wipe down the table and grab the tray off the trash bin. Back behind the counter I set the tray in the To Wash pile.

I hear the front door open. Another customer. I put the towel down and turn. Bonnie in a tank top and shorts is standing on the other side of the counter. When she started here two years ago she wanted to wear shorts here on hot days like today and I had to tell her no because it’s not safe. Her legs could get splashed with hot oil and get burned. She’s been going to Triton and lately she’s been talking about transferring to U. of I. at Chicago. I keep telling her that’s a good idea. Her parents think it’s a good idea, too. She can continue to work here and commute to school from home. She looks annoyed.

“Hey, Bonnie, what are you doing in here?” I ask.

“If I want to talk to you, Sean, this is where I have to come.”

I walk over to her, put my arm around her and kiss her on the cheek. She keeps her hands to herself. “Look, Bonnie. We’re short. You know how it is.”

“I know. I just came to ask if you’re working tomorrow night, too.”

“I thought we were gonna talk about this tomorrow.”

“I wanna talk about it now.”

“But...” I lightly run my fingers up and down the back of her right arm.
She folds her arms. “Are you working tomorrow night?”

I pull my hand away and look towards the door. No one’s comin’. Just me and her, and Theresa in the back. “Yes.”

“Again? Another Saturday?”

“I’m sorry. But you know how things are around here.”

She stomps her foot. “Sorry doesn’t go to a movie with me.”

“I know. I don’t know what else to say.”

“You’re the manager. Change the schedule.”

“I can’t just do whatever I want. I’ve got responsibilities to this place.”

“What about to me?”

In walks Jimmy. “I want my check,” he says. He was a problem from day one. I probably would’ve fired him sooner or later. He didn’t want to wear a hair-net. But I told him you have to when you have hair that long. Then he wanted to give his girlfriend a discount and I wouldn’t let him and I understand how it is with friends and girlfriends, but you can’t give things away; you won’t make any money that way, and making money is why you have a business.

“Hand over the shirt,” I say.

He tosses me the red shirt and I catch it. I go behind the counter and tuck the shirt into the shelf underneath the register, next to the towels. I was off that night, out with bonnie seein’ that movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. It was funny. Wish I’d been that creative when I used to ditch school with my buddies. All we ever did was hang around someone’s house, smokin’ pot, and listenin’ to Zeppelin and Aerosmith. I don’t know what happened exactly but it wasn’t the first time Tom came in after having a few at Carl’s across the street. He can be difficult. But he’s the one that really turned this place around. He and Chris sunk money into it, fixed it up a bit. You gotta respect that. But most of these high school kids don’t really want to work too hard. But that’s how you get anywhere. I grab his last paycheck from underneath the register and hand it across the counter to him. He takes it. I’m glad I won’t be seein’ him around anymore.

“I love this,” he says. “Same old shit. You’re standin’ here talkin’ to your girlfriend while someone’s probably working their arm sore cuttin’ fries in back.”

“I believe you got what you wanted.”

“Can’t wait ‘til I never have to come into this pit again.”

I rest a hand on top of the register and wave him off with my other hand. “So leave.”

“Don’t tell me Bonnie he’s bailin’ on you for tomorrow night, right?” He eyes her up and down. I know what he’s thinking.

“You got that right. It’s the last time I ever let him bail on me,” she says facing him.

“I sure as hell wouldn’t waste my time at a place like this.”

She turns her head to me. “Sometimes I think it is wasted time.”

“Jimmy! Oh, hey Bonnie,” says Theresa, coming out of the back room.

“Thanks for telling me he was here,” she says to me.

“He was just leaving,” I say glaring at him. He gives me a look like yeah, right. I spend three weeks training the prick and then he quits on Wednesday halfway through his fourth week. Two weeks after his friend Tony quit, who was a good guy, for a friend of Jimmy’s. Though he’s the one that recommended Jimmy and was a little slow up front but things can get crazy up front. He just got a little confused that first night with the crazy guy who wanted a meatball/Italian sausage sandwich with mozzarella cheese and red sauce and green peppers and Tony didn’t know how to put it in the register and how much to charge and the guy was so drunk I thought he was gonna pass out leaning against the counter the way his head was fallin’ down. But that’s what happens; people like that come in here and you just have to handle them.

“What’s up Theresa?” he says.

“She’s working,” I say. “Something you don’t know how to do. So get goin’.”

“All you know how to do,” says Bonnie.

Why is she doing this now? I have to work. I hope no customers walk in right now. I rest my other hand on the register. “Can we talk about this later?”

“Now’s as good a time as ever.”

“Please, Bonnie, we can talk about this later.”

“Why is everything always on your terms?” she asks.

I look down at the register, taking a deep breath. Every thing we sell on our menu has its own key. Makes it easy to ring people up.

“’Cause he thinks he’s the boss of everything,” says Jimmy.

“It’s none of your fuckin’ business,” I say. “Why don’t you leave before I call the cops on you for trespassing.”

“You couldn’t pay me to stay here.”

“Oh, how clever.”

Past him, still hanging in the window is the small white sign with the black letters DETNAW PLEH. Haven’t had anyone come in and fill out an application in over a week.

“And I’m not the only one.”

“Thinks he’s gonna own the place someday,” says Bonnie. “That’s why he lives here.”

“What’s wrong with havin’ goals in life?” I say, tapping the top of the register.

“Nothing. But we don’t live in a place like this,” says Bonnie, turning to Jimmy. “That’s the difference between him and us.” Her eyebrows are scrunched down. Since when is she ever on Jimmy’s side? Jimmy is grinning, like he’s thinkin’ of doin’ Bonnie right here in front of me and Bonnie is perfectly fine with it, actually egging him on.

“No,” I say. “I’ve actually got goals and plans and you guys have no understanding of that at all. Maybe it’s not good enough for any of you, but it’s good enough for me. I want to be good at what I do. I make more money than when I first started here. That’s an accomplishment. I’m the Night Manager. That’s an accomplishment. I try to accomplish things, and not focus on the bullshit. You think I don’t know that Tom can be difficult to work for? Of course I do! But how many of you own your own business, huh? None of you. So he must be doing something right. He must know some things that we don’t. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be the owner. He wouldn’t own a house or drive an IROC. So excuse me if I’m trying to better myself by learning from someone who knows a few things.”

Bonnie sighs. Well, tough shit if she’s tired of hearing my reasons for doin’ what I’m doin’. If she really loved me she’d try to understand. Guess I was wrong, as I seem to be wrong about everything, according to her. I’m tired of explaining myself.

“There you have it; from the future Hot Dog King of Fairview,” says Jimmy.
And I’m tired of this worthless little motherfucker. “Get the fuck out of here!” I yell, slamming my right hand on top of the counter with a smack.

Bonnie jumps back. Jimmy looks jolted, like he’s finally taking me seriously. Maybe I should just kick his ass and be done with it. Pound his ugly fuckin’ face into the ground. People are never happy, customers or workers; no one’s happy with what they’ve got.

I feel my head twitch a little. My breathing is bumpy, like there’s some sort of bottleneck for every breath I take; can’t get the air in and out fast enough. My right knee is going back and forth.

“All right. I’m leavin’,” he says and turns and goes out the door. About fuckin’ time. One more loser that couldn’t handle a simple fuckin’ job.

Bonnie is staring at me like she doesn’t even know me. I think I yelled louder than I can remember ever saying anything in my entire life. I take my right hand off the counter and look at it. It’s red. It feels sore. Some ice on it might feel nice. “No one’s forcing you to stay here on your night off,” I say.

“That’s true.”

I tuck my sore hand into my pocket. “If you hate this place so much–”

“I don’t hate this place.”

“Then what do you hate?”

She reverses the fold of her arms. Her eyes look ready to cry. “I hate that you seem to have more dedication to this place than the people who own it do, and that you show more respect for this place than you do to the people you say you love.”

My hand feels even warmer, so I take it out of my pocket and set it on the steel counter. It feels a little cooler. “I love you more than this place. I don’t enjoy working all these hours and dealing with employees like Jimmy who don’t want to work hard and the others who quit on me. But if I’m going to have any kind of life, I need a path to go on.”

“This place,” she says and swallows. “For me it’s just...”

I look down at the cash register and tap the edge of it, just below the keys, with the tip of my left index finger. “Then there’s nothing more to say then, is there?”

She looks down at the floor. “No, there isn’t.”

“I’ll see you on Wednesday for your shift?”

She brings her head up, clearing her hair from her face with a hand, sniffling. Then she nods and says, “Yeah, Wednesday.”

She takes a few steps back before turning around and putting her hand to her mouth. I’m not going to get to touch her anymore. I look behind me at the metal baskets filled with fries that are waiting to be cooked. Only three baskets left. With my luck, Bonnie will probably give notice when she comes in next week. I wanna go home, or take a drive and get a drink or two or maybe more. But I’m working. I’ve got about six and a half hours to go.

“I’m almost done with the fries,” says Theresa real soft like she’s sorry. I forgot she was standing there.

“When you’re finished let me know,” I say.

“It won’t be long. I promise.”

“That’s fine.”

A group of teenagers comes in. Time to take their order.

* * *

I lock the front doors and then Theresa and I do the final cleanup: all the counters, tables, and chairs wiped down; the floors mopped; the grill, the fryers, the boiling pots, and the bun steamer turned off; all the dishes and utensils washed; the excess food thrown away.

“You can go home now,” I say.

She pulls out her purse from underneath the counter and fishes around inside with her other hand, eventually pulling out her keys. “I knew they were in here somewhere.”

“Good night. I’ll see you Tuesday,” I say.

“Five o’clock, right?”

“Yeah. I think I’ve got you down on the schedule for five to nine.”

“Okay.”

“Good night.”

She turns halfway. Then she points at me with her keys. “If you need me to work some extra hours, let me know. I can really use the money.”

I blink slowly. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

I see her out the back door and lean inside the doorway while I watch her until she gets into her car, a white Escort. It’s dark and it’s late, gotta make sure she gets away safely. Once she starts up the car and pulls out I go back in.

I turn off the lights in the eating area. Then I do a count from the register. We had a pretty good night. We had the usual afterwork crowd and then the weekend trickle of teenagers, and then the late night crowd after the track closes down in Maywood. You wouldn’t think those track guys would stop here, we’re so far away, but they do and we serve’em and we take their money. I put the money in the blue deposit bag and zip it shut. The money in this bag isn’t even half of what the day shift usually makes. Now that’s an intense shift. Gotta have experienced, reliable, fast people. And Chris makes sure of it. I hold the bag in both hands. I’ll get my small share of this come pay day next week. A few more hours and a few more dollars closer to my goals. Only after I stop at the bank and put this in the night deposit slot can I go home, have a beer, and get some sleep. Or I could just take the money and never come back...As much as I want to, as much as I could use it, I can’t take it because it would never be enough to do all the things I want to. And the money isn’t mine. It belongs to the place, which belongs to Tom and Chris. I’m just minding it for them. They trust me. And I like it here. The smell of fries and mushrooms cookin’ in the oil, burgers and sausage sizzlin’ on the grill, the softness of steamed buns, the crinkle of the wrapper as I wrap up the fries with the hot dog, the ka-ching of the cash register, and the smell of bleach that kind of pushes out the other smells at the end of the night with each stroke of the mop. (I still hate cleaning the grease catchers.) And the way things are quiet right now; it’s like the whole place is goin’ to sleep, a weird feeling for a place that’s usually all people eatin’ and yappin’. And I get to see it like this.

I double-check that the front doors are locked. They are. Then I go in the back and shut off the rest of the lights, then go out the door and lock it from the outside. It’s a little muggy but it’s cooled down quite a bit.

© 2004 Richard T. Hellinga. All Rights Reserved.