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She hated going to work for the same reason she hated visiting her brother: the glass. It was bad enough she had to wash the deep-fry out of her hair extensions every night, but she was forced to give up eight hours of her life to that damn ballistic box every day. As if there weren't enough artificial barriers between her and the rest of the world already. She would have rather had the freedom to get shot than be forced into protective custody like that. Ain't no jobs in the traps but fast-food and check cashing though, and they all maximum security.
She may have been a wage slave, but she had them fugitive thoughts. The glass was her window to the outside and she refused to let customers get in the way of that. Since the distant voices from the speak-thru rarely required thoughtful responses she just emotionlessly recited the script, word for word, like when she had to say the Pledge in elementary school.
"Welcome to Golden Wings. My name is Chantelle. How may I serve you?"
"How you doing, Chantelle?" Charles hoped the question would get him some eye contact. It seemed to him she was already looking at his eye, but he couldn't see out of that one, so it ain't really count.
"I'm fine," Chantelle offered reluctantly, "How may I serve you?"
"Y'all got whiting, Chantelle?"
"Whitey who?"
"Whiting fish."
"The only fish we have is catfish, sir."
"Huh. I can't fuck with them bottom feeders. Lemme get a two piece meal, all white meat."
"It's a dollar extra for all white meat."
"I'll trick for it. The first is comin'."
"Will that be all for you, sir?"
"Naw," he said with a lopsided grin. The left half of his upperlip was still swollen from kissing the asphalt a few days earlier, but the right side of his mouth was bright and toothy. "Can I get a side of sweetpotato fries, family-size, a regular pink lemonade, and maybe a smile out of you, please?"
Chantelle twisted her torso to review the menu board behind her head before facing the glass and whatever she was imagining before Charles stuck his face in the way, "I'm sorry, sir, but my smile is not on the menu."
"I know. I was hoping you'd be able to slide it in with some extra napkins."
"Two-piece meal, all breast meat, family-sized sweetpotato fries, and a regular drink. Will that be all for you, sir?"
Charles gave up the battle and eight singles, sliding the dollars in the aluminum cash tray. Chantelle tightened the corners of her mouth to flex a smile into submission as she counted his change. He was looking all Quasimofo now, but she knew he wouldn't have to ask for smiles when his face healed. Still smiling as he waited for his order, Charles knew it too.
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