Mannerly and polite, in the style of a pleasant automaton, the Man at the First Window never deviates from the script, and you get the feeling he's practiced it at home, over and over, with his mother. Nor does he ever show the slightest sign of recognizing me from the day before. As he hands me my change, he always says, "Thank you. Please come again."
At the Second Window, the young man (who over the years I've found to be quite moody) shows signs of having been coached. He's started winking! It doesn't fit him. He does it in the awkward style of someone whose older brother has recently taught him to wink--a gesture he probably bestows on all his customers, old and young. I'm not quite sure how to respond. Do I wink back? Do I pretend I don't notice this newfound facial tic, or do I receive it as a semi-flirtatious gesture? If one eye is winking in the forest.....?
On the days he's not on duty, the tattoo girl is. She reminds me of a mean first grade teacher, and I drive away, coke in hand, with a distinct feeling that I've broken a rule I didn't know was a rule. Once I told her she looked pretty--because she did (she had curled her usually wild hair) , and because I wanted her to lighten up a little, maybe be my window pal.
Hearing a compliment, she brightened a little, and I thought we'd made a breakthrough. The next day, she had forgotten. She looks at me now in the old way, like I'm one more obnoxious customer who needs training, Should I give up on the project, or launch a new campaign: Where did you get that lovely tattoo? What do you do when you're not serving cokes and burgers and fries? Is there somebody out there who loves you?
At the Other MacDonalds, the window people are different. "Hi Sweetheart!" Clarence says. He calls me by name, has the coke ready when he sees the Mini driving up, and rarely charges me. "It's on me," he'll say.
Another, a young woman named Maria, always asks me if she can take a ride in my Mini. I truly intend to pick her up after work one day, take her for a spin down Austin Highway--but, alas, I never think of it until the next time I'm at her window.
A serious young man who looks to be about eighteen--you wonder how he got a window position--never, never once, makes eye contact. I've tried to engage him in conversation, but he absolutely refuses. He looks away--it's unnerving and touching-- as if the very sound of a voice is frightening to him.
3 comments:
I LOVE trying to converse with the window people wherever I go. Once in awhile, i find one is a former student, and I'm tempted to say, "I'll take fries with that," but I bite my tongue. It was always one of those things a kid invariably brought up when we spoke of careers and someone would announce, "I'm not going to college- who needs more school- yuck." And a college minded student would mumble, "Would you like fries with that?" It never failed to ignite laughter and usually one slightly pissed off drop out who insisted he didn't need college because he was going to be a famous football player! (Or basketball player or actor or singer, or whatever...) Love your window people- there's probably a book in there!
Going there every day is an opportunity. Don't ever forget to look with love. Every person you see is there out of necessity of one kind or another. They may not be able to love you back, and your simple order might be scrambled,but keep looking.
I love this, truly, truly. This is the kind of insight into daily life, I love. Small moments.
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