Help wanted

I don't know why I have to wear a hairnet too. I don't go near any of the food.

Bruce was white, skinny, tall, 24, dressed in blue jeans and a wet black t-shirt, and mad that the new policy for everyone in the kitchen included him, the dishwasher. He couldn't even see the chefs from the places he stood. And it made him look like a jackass and if any of his friends saw him, he'd be toast. He'd never live it down. "Why can't he call my spot 'dishwashing'? I'm going to get some tape and draw a line. It'll show where the kitchen ends. Tonight I'm going to get some tape."

Work ended too late to get tape. On his way into work the next day he remembered to stop at Target. He was five minutes late to his 3 PM shift, but the boss wasn't around so he got away with it. The lunch dishes were piled up deep waiting for him, so he put the Target bag on the floor since there wasn't room on the counter.

"Hairnet, Bruce," said Shequan, his boss. The daytime boss.

"Yeah, OK," he said with a resigned face. "Hey, uh, if I put some tape down to show where the kitchen ends and dishwashing begins, do I have to wear it?"

"Yes," she laughed. "The health inspector marked us down for not having them so everybody has to do it."

"Yeah but I don't see how my hair is going to get on anybody's food. I mean, like I look at every dish before it gets out of here."

"Bruce, it's just one of those things that's out of our control. We just have to do it, OK?"

"Yeah but I bought the tape and everything." And he looked at his Target bag.

Shequan laughed and smiled. "No, Bruce. And-" and she pointed at his head.

"Right," he said, and got the hairnet out of his unlocked locker, #12. He liked that number. He wore a football jersey with that number in school, 2nd or 3rd grade or something. He put on the hairnet and still didn't like it. He remembered thinking yesterday that maybe it would eventually look OK, but even though he didn't have a mirror he knew it looked stupid because it looked stupid on everyone else that was wearing one. "Why do some people here not have to wear them?" he thought. That one waitress, the short blond girl, was just sitting in the kitchen doing nothing. And Shequan too. Both of them without hairnets. Then he thought about the pile of dishes and got to work.

Bruce first fed the plates and silverware through the dishwasher, one rack at a time, then got to the pots and pans. Sometimes a cook would ask him to do the pots and pans first, or just the frying pans. It made him uncomfortable being told what to do, but he had to do it anyway. Doing the plates first meant he had room to put clean stuff down. If he had to do pans first then there was no counter space to put the clean ones down unless he took them out to the kitchen almost one by one. But today was good, no orders from the chef. New dishes started piling up as dinner started, so he started feeding them through the dishwasher. It was getting hot in the kitchen, and there was steam from the dishwasher. Each clean plate was hot as he pulled it out of the rack and stacked them up. Bruce got hot and took off his hairnet and put it in his pocket, only thinking about trying to cool down a little. He ran a few racks through to clean out an area where he could put down clean pots and pans, and moved back to the big sink.

"Bruce, hey, come with me." It was Scott, the night boss.

"Hey, I got a lot to do, but... OK," replied Bruce and dried off his hands. His blue t-shirt and jeans were wet, but not soaked, and he was hot. They walked to the office, where Scott unlocked a cabinet. He was counting out money. "This isn't good," Bruce thought.

Scott turned around with cash in his hand. "I have to let you go. I can't have a situation where I have to tell you to wear the hairnet over and over. I'm sorry. This is your pay through Friday. You were good here."

"OK, man," Bruce said, resigned. He had heard this a lot, and he knew how to shut his emotions down inside when it happened. He reached out and took the cash. Scott reached out his hand to shake Bruce's. Bruce shook it.

"Like, do you want me to finish those pots? I can finish those and go." Bruce felt funny taking money for work he hadn't done.

"That's OK, Bruce. You get the night off. I'll figure out something."

On the walk home he looked for Help Wanted signs in restaurant windows and didn't see any. At home he cracked a Budweiser, watched basketball, and forgot about it. In the morning, he thought about going to the grocery store before work but then remembered he didn't have that job anymore. He remembered not seeing any Help Wanted signs. He remembered that he left the bag of masking tape on the floor at Florida's and thought about going back to get it, but then thought no, he didn't want anybody to tell him they were sorry. He drank a Coke from his fridge.

Around noon he thought he'd go to the grocery store and get some things to eat. He thought he might be sitting in the apartment for a few days before he got another job. He counted out the cash for the rent that was due in a couple of days, and another five for the money order to turn the cash into a check. He had $95 left for everything else. The cell phone bill was also due soon, so now he was down to $50.

On the way to the grocery store he stopped in at Dominique's, and then Boodles. He knew that the chain restaurants wouldn't hire him because of the background check. So he had to ignore those and only go to the small places. They didn't need help. A mile past the grocery store there was Augie's. Maybe there, he thought. He walked there in the hot sun, feeling hungry. They didn't need him. He kept himself cold inside, unable to feel emotion when he was told "no" after the long walk.

At the grocery store he got a hand basket instead of a cart. He didn't like the way that carts looked on guys. Plus he only needed a little stuff. He put a big loaf of bread in his basket, a really long one with a lot of slices that would last a while, and mustard because he was almost out of it. At the deli meats area, all the packages sealed in plastic were expensive. He wanted the ham. There was a big package for almost $8. He felt himself running out of money, and felt scared. He didn't want to be hungry. That made him more scared. He walked away and looked at bags of potato chips. They were expensive too. He walked back to the deli meats, looked to his left and right, and stuffed a three-quarter pound package of Oscar Mayer Honey Ham down the front of his pants.