The Tan Ginger

I sighed as I cleaned off the counters of Bret's Burger Bar, the manager watching me from behind, his arms crossed.  I was so close to turning around and slapping him silly with the wet cloth, but surprisingly contained myself.  "Missed a spot," he said groggily. I angrily scrubbed away at a spot where some drunk guy had spilled his IPA.  The room smelled sharply of cleaning solution and stale beer.  I finished wiping off the counter and threw the rag into a red bucket filled with dirty water from previous cleaning sessions.  I turned around to face the manager.  He opened his mouth to speak, but didn't say anything.  I raised my eyebrows, trying to give him the message to move over.  Instead, he awkwardly grabbed me by the shoulder.  I shrugged him off.  "Listen, for one second," he pleaded with me.  I rolled my eyes and sat down on the decaying bar stool.  "What?" I grumbled.  Bret fished around in his pocket, pulled out his phone, typed something in, and showed me his screen. It was our business.  "What am I looking at?" I asked in a rude tone. Mike shook his head sadly and zoomed in on something.  He showed me again. He had zoomed in on the star review.  Half star review. I shook my head at him.  "You act like you think people like this place. It's kinda sad, to be honest with you," "I need you to step up," he said in his deep voice.  "I need you to staff more people," I retorted at him. "I can't cook, clean, play bartender, and help the drunks get an uber.  Maybe YOU should maybe come down here every now and then to help the business you started!" Bret frowned at me.  "Remember when you were younger, Jack? Remember-" "No," I said firmly, "We aren't playing the 'Remember' game today," "Sorry," Bret mumbled.  "I know you have a lot going on, but please, step up the work, ok?"

--

I sighed and rolled out of bed, threw on my apron, grabbed some Coca-Cola, kissed my mother goodbye, and got in my old Honda to get to the place.  The place where my work wasn't good enough.  I parked in the employee parking lot.  There were two other cars.  About time, Bret. I thought to myself. I got out of the car, and walked into the restaurant.  The usuals were there, laughing like horses.  I went to the counter and put my hands down, 'Ain't it too early to be drunk, boys?" I asked, trying to sound as cheerful as possible.  "Naw, Jacky, we ain't drunk. Yet.".  They all bursted out in laughter.  I rolled my eyes.  "Anything else I can get y'all?" I asked, reaching down for a whiskey glass and stone, knowing that whiskey Mike wouldn't be able to turn it down.  "Tennessee whiskey," Mike said happily.  I filled a glass with the stuff and sat it infront of him. He drank it down in a moment.  “Hey, Jack,” I turned my head to look at the more sober of the group.  “Yes?” I asked, “Heya, who’s the other people working here? Surprised that Bret could hire. You’ve got half a star,” He laughed.  “Yeah, well, don’t know how that happened.  I should probably meet with the newbie to make sure he don’t poison the whole place,” the sober one laughed and turned to talk with his buddies.  I watched them for a second to make sure that they wouldn’t steal anything, and turned to the kitchen. I stopped in the doorway of the kitchen and saw some short guy flipping burgers like a master chef.  He looked up at me, then went back to his work. “Hey.  I’m Jack, the first employee, who are you?” The short boy looked up at me, “Bret’s grandson,” he mumbled. So Bret had a grandson. Huh. “Well, what’s your name?” I asked, a little impatient with him.  “Eli,” he said quietly.  I looked him up and down for a second.  He was a tan ginger.  Probably one of the only ones out there, “Well, do you know what you’re doing, or do you need me to help?” I asked. “I know what I’m doing.  I’ve been cooking since I was in diapers.  Do you know what you’re doing? Because people have rated your burgers terribly.  “Well, thanks,” I said sarcastically. “Great meeting you shortie, have fun playing chef,” I said with false cheer.  I heard a grumble and went back to the counter, laughing a little bit at Eli’s dumb reaction. I went back to the counter and wiped down a spilled coke. I glanced over at the family who was eating and saw them marveling over their burgers.  Guess the kid can cook, I thought to myself. I collected money from the family, and they left a very generous tip, with a note that said ‘To the chef’. I rolled my eyes and threw the money in the cash register.  We had made more money than usual. I checked my phone and figured out why.  The rating for this place had gone up just a half.  I smiled.  Bret would probably be happy about that.  I suddenly kicked out Bret’s stupid face.  I didn’t care if he was happy or not, or if he wanted to keep the restaurant or not. I really didn’t care.

--

The ratings had gone up a lot. Bret had wanted to meet up with me about the place.  Eli and me. When Bret met with us, he gave Eli almost all of the credit.  He didn’t thank the bartender, he didn’t thank the butler, he didn’t  thank the person that made sure that the regulars still came.  Even the sober of the group who had things to do.  That was saying a lot.  Bret, though, still gave me at least some of the credit.  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that this place was what I needed.  The money, the talks with the regulars, the feeling of almost family.  I guessed I was glad that the business was doing alright now.  I guessed that I was glad Bret hired the tan ginger.