Tater Tots

Tater Tots

By Jasper Wemple

“Sounds good,” Johnny replied, trying his best to sound enthusiastic, despite his splitting headache, “And can I get you some tater tots or a drink with that?”

“Oh, no,” the answer came in a deep, jovial voice, “the Chicken Cruncharito Fiesta Burrito will be fine.”

“Good to go, your total will be $6.49 at the window,” as he finished entering the order in the POS, Johnny turned and was immediately confronted by Andy, his shift manager. Andy was a short, soft man with a patchy brown mustache, and currently stood well within what any reasonable person would consider Johnny’s “personal space”. 

“You need to work on being more polite to our guests,” Andy stated in a cold, high pitched voice.

“Sorry, Andy,” Johnny’s response was not so much speech as a long sigh formed into words, “I thought I was being polite.”

“Well, I don’t care what you think,” Andy repeated this tired, cliche line in a tone of total condescension, as if coming up with it made him the smartest little man in the world. Gods, Johnny hated him. But Andy continued, “Your words are fine, but you need to work on your tone.”

Chloe interrupted the lecture to hand Johnny a small brown paper bag containing the Chicken Cruncharito Fiesta Burrito. The “guest” had pulled up to the window in a large, green truck. He was a large, unshaven middle-aged man in a Carhartt, and he smiled at Johnny as they exchanged the brown bag for a debit card, which Johnny returned to him a moment later, the $6.49  payment having gone through successfully. The “guest” thanked Johnny in that same deep voice. Johnny guessed that this was the sort of upright, light-hearted boomer who was very pleasant and reasonable as long as the conversation didn’t wander onto the subject of current events, history, science, or anything meaningful really. 

Having completed the transaction, Johnny turned back to Andy, who wasted no time in continuing his prattling. 

  “And that brings me to the more serious issue at hand,” Johnny didn’t know what was coming next, but he doubted it could possibly be that serious, Clearly Andy was not exaggerating his feelings on the situation, however, because his pitchy voice now raised dramatically in volume, cracking at several points, “DO WE SAY ‘TATER TOTS’ HERE AT ‘TACOS OLE’?!”

The physical effort required to stop Johnny from rolling his eyes legitimately took something out of him. Sure, he had pushed through hangovers before. In the Marines he had engaged in plenty of hikes and fitness tests in the early morning hours after a long night of drinking, and generally managed to outpace his peers. How much easier that had been than fighting the nausea and the headache while taking verbal abuse from this trout-shouldered weasel. He briefly considered asking how exactly anything had “brought” Andy to this ridiculous, semantic point, but thought better of it. Casting his gaze downward to the filthy linoleum floor, he replied in a quiet, tense voice.

“No.”

“That’s right! And why is that?!”

“I don’t know, Andy.”

“Tater tots,” Andy’s voice had quieted slightly, but was still far louder than the situation warranted, “are something that you buy in the frozen food aisle! Here at 'Tacos Ole', you buy 'Mexi-bites!'"

“Right. Sorry.”

Andy took a step even closer now, “Are you even listening to me, John? You sound like you’re just agreeing so I’ll shut up! Am I annoying you?! Is this how you talked to your NCO’s?!”

A series of thoughts flashed through Johnny’s head. He thought about explaining exactly why Andy was nothing like a non-commissioned officer, and that Taco Ole was, in fact, not the Marine Corps. He thought about telling the man to step back because he clearly didn’t know how to keep the spit in his mouth when he talked. He thought, as he felt his powerful shoulder muscles flex, about how easy it would be to overpower this rodent and shove his smug face in the damn deep fryer. It would be a simple thing, and no one would be able to stop him, at least not quickly enough. Each thought was a fantasy though, increasingly impossible. The massive difference in physicality between the two men didn’t mean a damn thing, Johnny knew, nor did it change the fact that these violent revenge fantasies were no more realistic, no less impotent than a pasty, misogynistic basement dweller’s fantasy of having their way with Deanna Troi. His height, his years of training in hand-to-hand combat, all the damn push-ups and weight lifting...none of it changed the fact that Johnny was completely at the mercy of the aggressively mediocre little man that stood before him. 

“No, Andy.”

“No WHAT?!”

“No, you’re not annoying and no, I’m not trying to shut you up, sir.” 

“Good, because we’ve had this problem with the mexi-bites before, haven’t we?”

“Yes, Andy.”

“So the next time I hear the words ‘tater tots’ come out of your mouth, you’re getting sent home. I’d say that’s more than fair, wouldn’t you say?!” Andy glanced down at his pseudo-tactical watch before continuing, “It’s about time for your lunch break, John. I suggest you use it to get it together!”

Your language usage is totally redundant, Johnny thought; a petty, unspoken jab, yet another howl into the void. Somehow, he managed to punch out for lunch and turn away from Andy before his lips curled into a primal snarl. Making his way back to the small break-room, Johnny removed his “Tacos Ole” official team member hat and apron before collapsing in the rickety old chair by the break-room table.

 Chloe’s head popped around the corner, a sympathetic look on her face, “Did you want food?”

Johnny shrugged, “Yeah, can I just get some water and ta…,” never know when Andy might be listening, he thought, “some ‘mexi-bites’, please?”

She nodded with a faint smile and disappeared back into the kitchen. With a sigh, Johnny reached into his backpack, which sat on the table, and retrieved a thick, paperback book. Sitting back, he opened it to the ear-marked page and began to read.

“Money is the alienated essence of man’s labor and life; and this alien essence dominates him as he worships it.”

He closed the book and looked up at the decrepit ceiling. This was pointless too. Knowledge, like strength, was of no avail here. Understanding the misery of his condition did not alleviate it in the slightest. And so, as Chloe placed a tray and a small paper cup in front of him, Johnny simply took a lukewarm tater tot, popped it into his mouth, and chewed it slowly…

...and held back the tears.