140Story - Day 33

  I'm writing a story 140 words at a time and posting the results here daily.  Can I sustain interest?  Will I lose the narrative thread?  Find out in this next installment of Bullets Ain't Cheap

   It was him.  Kelly.  Or a version of him.  I recognized the eyes, the blue irises with a darker ring on the outside.  And the crinkles at the edges that only got deeper as time went on.
    But that was it.  If I hadn’t heard his voice and seen his eyes I would never have guessed this was Kelly.  He was thin, almost emaciated, and his brown hair was long and greasy.  He hadn’t shaved or groomed his beard in any way, and his skin looked unhealthy, like a person who’d been in the hospital too long.  Or a homeless person, which is what I suspected he’d become.
    “We need to get away from here,” he said, almost a whisper.  His eyes darted around, trying to take in everything all at once.
    I’d seen this before, the hyper-awareness.  I’d

Food Confidence

Have you ever had a sandwich prepared by a surly food service worker?
   How did that make you feel about the meal you paid for? Because today I felt suspicious, which kind of made me surly myself.
   When you walk into a restaurant or fast-food joint, usually you're greeted with a smile, perhaps an over-enthusiastic one or a sarcastic one, but still a smile. When I was a waiter it was my job to be friendly even if I hated your guts from the moment you walked in. Especially if I hated your guts.
   Obviously this was part of our training, if for no other reason than a smile prompts bigger tips. It really does, I made an experiment of it one weekend.
   But there's a better reason why food service workers are friendly. It gives the customer confidence that no one's going to do something to their food. A meal prepared by a surly worker is inherently no better or worse than a meal prepared by a similarly-skilled friendly worker. But if the guy making your sandwich isn't smiling you're pretty sure he's up to something. With your food. That you're going to put in your mouth.
   All this ran through my head today as I watched the frowning lady at Schlotzky's make my sandwich. I couldn't see her hands, which totally bothered me. What kind of morning did she have that made her that frowny? Was it her kids? Her dog? Her husband who I might resemble closely enough that revenge on me would be revenge on him? Why wasn't she happy making my meal? Or at least less upset? What was she doing back there? To my Deluxe Original?
   I'm not ashamed at all to say that when I got back to my desk at work I double-checked my sandwich before I took a bite. Nothing amiss so I proceeded with the eating. But it's only maybe the second or third time I've ever felt the need to do that. If she'd just smiled a little, tiny bit, even for a moment, I would have been more at ease.
   So smile, food service workers, if for no other reason than to give the rest of us false hope you're not doing anything weird with our sandwiches.