It is 9:43pm, and I am standing inside a Church's Chicken that is trying hard to close for the night. The seating area is already closed, although the sign on the front says it will be open for another 17 minutes. I have placed an order at the drive-through, and have been permitted to wait inside for a part of my order that will take, she offered, about 4 minutes. She offered me a free soft drink, which I politely declined, as I am not in a hurry. I have half-an-hour, more or less. I don't mind waiting. There is a man behind the counter, behind the food. He is frying the part of the order that will take an additional 4 minutes, more or less, and looks both very intense and very distant. His ancestry is clear in his features and proud in his baring.
In my head, The Reverend sings a song called "Generation Why" that's got lyrics worthy of Tim (pre-influence, post-creepfeed).
There's a woman behind the counter with whom I have already spoken. She talks into a headset and takes orders quickly and precisely, but in with an unfriendly air.
There's a man standing at the counter, leaning over with obvious hostility in everything about his bearing. He is fat and tense, as if ready to spring ineffectually at any moment. He has a moustache and a tick that says he is a jerk and a smoker in need of attention and nicotine. When I parked my car and walked up to the door of the lobby, to wait for my order to be ready as instructed, He pulled up and parked in a handicapped space in front of the store. He stepped out of his car, fists clenched, and glared from the door to me. I felt pressed, and so said, "I think they're trying to close the lobby. There's still the drive-through." He responded, "No Way. No FUCKING Way," and clenched and unclenched his hands, turning a shade redder. I was afraid he would try to punch me, and took a subtle step back.
When this man growled, another man inside the lobby opened the door and said, "Are you guys waiting for the tenders?"
I said, "I am," and the other fellow shoved the man who had opened the door back, and stomped up to the counter. I made eye contact with the employee, and made a conciliatory shrug. I've worked retail, and I know that people suck. He looked from me to the newcomer and realized instantly what was happening. He went back to sweeping. I stood by the window, where I am standing now, at 9:43pm, and waited for my order as patiently as I know how to. I looked at the menu, watched the man sweep, and smiled quietly to myself. It's how I wait, when I have no place to be, and 10 minutes of cook time ahead of me.
My phone rings, and I chat for a moment with a friend I have missed of late. The woman with the headset says to me, "You're order will be ready in just a moment." I give her a happy wave and a faint smile, and keep chatting quietly. I'm enjoying the moment of wait, although that seems not to be an option. I think she's worried that I'm mad and I don't know how to assuage her concern. I did, after all, wave away a free soda.
The man outside is smoking a cigarette angrily as if it were making him late.
I notice for the first time, the woman behind the counter filling an order. I assume it's not the first since I started standing here, but it's the first I see filled. She uses long metal tongs to fill an order for a three piece mixed with biscuit. She is lightning quick with them, snatching pieces of chicken with absolute precision and stacking them into a paper box which she pulls from a pile and shakes into life with one deft motion. It is poetry to see her move so swiftly and so precisely. I think to myself, this is a woman who is good at her job and doesn't want to do it forever.
It is 9:47pm. She hands me a box containing precisely 20 assorted pieces of animal flesh. This will feed me and Toshi for several days. I say lamely, "You're very quick with those tongs. It's impressive." She very obviously wonders if I am being sarcastic, seems to realize that I don't mean anything terrible by it, and says "Thanks." I take the food, and head out of the lobby.
As I pass the newcomer, the man torturing his now third cigarette to death, I wish him a good evening. He glares at me for a moment, then says "Yeah." I go to my car, turn on the radio just a bit too loud, and drive the four and a half minutes home. It is now 10:01. I make a wish, turn off my car, close the garage door, and go inside.