Sedonie Who Works Over at Hungry Biffy's

Sedonie, Who Works at the Hungry Biffy's

"Thank U For Not Vaping Smoking or Engaging in Verbal Hostilities at the EstablishMent" says the sign.

It’s huge, and written all ramshackle with a fat marker and taped up in the window of the drive-thru of Hungry Biffy’s Burgers. I sit in my truck and stare at the sign, waiting for the woman to come back with my burgers and fries. I don’t like the food here much, but I needed to get out and drive and think tonight, and it’s a good hour road trip to Toowilluh.

Seems like a lot of sign for a small window, and more words than the regular workers probably can say or spell. There is a line of cars stretching half a mile behind mine, getting longer every minute, because you know Thursday night is two-dollar night at the Hungry Biffy’s. Seems like it’s taking a very long time for this woman to come back, and I feel stressed.

“That will be twelve dollars and four cents,” says the woman, snapping her gum and snapping me out of my thoughts as she returns to the window.

I suddenly notice everything about her. A shiny headset like an air traffic controller makes her look sort of important, as it rests on the red Hungry Biffy’s visor on her head, and a lot of big hair poofs around the visor. She wears very shiny, red lip gloss. Sidonie is embroidered on her red T-shirt.

This woman standing at the drive-thru, anyone could tell she is smart, and too classy and too pretty to be standing where she stands although she does also look strangely angry. She smacks her gum and makes gum smacking look fine. And she smacks it for awhile because I am not hurrying to pay my twelve dollars and four cents, and I am not saying a word.

Sidonie. Woman of my dreams, you have stunned me with your lip gloss, I want to say.

I have to focus on not staring at her, so I re-read the sign. It seems to be shouting to me. Thank U For Not Vaping Smoking or Engaging in Verbal Hostilities at the EstablishMent.

I bet every man that ya’lls through here checks to see if she is wearing any wedding ring. She has short, blue fingernails, not too chipped. But that lip gloss—do employees even wear lip gloss if they are married?

She raises her eyebrows as if to say, “Well? Are you going to pay or not?”

The woman is clearly annoyed, waiting for me to hand over my credit card and be on my way, but I can’t properly think. If only I wasn’t feeling stunned and sweaty. Something about her is making my gut feel like I am heading down the steep part of the upside down roller coaster. I am short of words, and short of enough air to breathe right. I want to talk to this Sidonie.

I turn off the radio in my car to buy time, and slowly find my wallet and find my credit card out of my wallet. I look at her again. This time, I mean, it is Eye Contact.

She has these little cute dots on her cheeks. There is a almost a smile, like maybe she might even not think I am all that stupid, ‘cause she is looking at me and it twinkles my stomach. It’s as if she is giving in to an emotion that she was not expecting. Or is she actually laughing at me, and if so, is it in a good way? What kind of man could function in this type of situation?

I need to say some words. I focus on the sign in the window for another minute. Then I look back at her again. She smacks her gum and smiles, smacks and smiles. Bubbs used to say that gum smacking and hair flipping should be be interpreted as flat out flirting. I have still not caught up with my powers of speech because it has hit me scary how much I like her. Who knows why? Why does anybody love who they love?

The car behind me honks. Another starts honking.

I am not breathing normally. Hand her the credit card, I think, and the moment will be over, and I’ll be gone. But I am frozen --because as soon as I pay, pull forward, drive off, let time move, I’ll lose this moment. It’s not like I can easily come back another time to recreate the moment, working graveyard shift at the plant after my regular work --except for this week with jury duty. And how often does anyone even make the drive to Toowilluh for any kind of reason?

Dear Kind God. Make my mouth talk. Time is ticking. What words have I ever been successful with in the past? I really have to hand her my credit card.

She takes my card, blue fingernails flashing, and three seconds later, she is back with the card, the receipt, and hands me my red checked bag of burgers. It is done. I have to drive away now.

“Thank you for visiting Hungry Biffy’s,” she says.

“You’re welcome,” I say. I fiddle with my wallet and don’t drive away.

“Bye,” she says. But I don’t say bye back, and I don’t do anything.

I read the taped-up sign again. Why do I feel bad?

“You’re welcome,” I say soberly. Her eyes look puzzled, and then she shakes her hair, annoyed. Those flashing eyes. I want to say that I know your eyes from somewhere in my dreams. Good thing I can’t really talk because I could ruin this with cheesy.

She’s talking to another worker and listening through her head set now. Hungry Biffy’s fluorescent lighting shines on her, frames her in the drive-thru window. She should be framed like the Mona Lisa.

“Yeah, tons in the supply cabinet,” she says to her headset.

She turns, looks forward, and sees that I’m still there. She sighs.

I read the sign again, out loud.

“Thank U For Not Vaping, Smoking or Engaging in Verbal Hostilities at Hungry Biffy’s EstablishMent? Well, your establishment is very welcome.” I say.

She raises her eyebrows.

“Please tell the establishment that I thank them for thanking me for not vaping, smoking or engaging in verbal hostilities. Although, I admit-- That I do and have recently engaged in several verbal hostilities. And I am very, very sorry for it. Sign says thank you. Ma’am, will you tell the establishment that I said, they are welcome.”

She chuckles, barely, and then she laughs. She doesn’t just sort of laugh, she really loses it, and her gum falls out of her mouth, and she laughs harder, and she leans down and puts her hand over her mouth and laughs, and then wipes tears from her eyes --not the way women do when they don’t want to mess up their makeup, but grabbing a pile of Hungry Biff’s red checkered napkins, and wiping her whole face. Then she looks left and right and then she looks at me.

“I will let the establishment know,” she says, “Is there anything else I can do for you today, sir?”

Behind me are cars and annoyed customers, but ahead of me, a night of nothing. I tell myself I have to do this. I have to say what I am thinking. I put on my emergency blinkers and turn off the engine. I take a breath for courage and think: go big or go home. Then I lean my head out of my truck’s window to talk, because I often get told to use my indoor voice.

“Am I about to drive through this drive-thru and down I-15 and eat these burgers that those hands have touched, and savor the fries that yourself has salted—and not express what I am feeling and thinking right now?”

Her hands fly to cover her mouth, as if she is watching a train wreck, or a three year old tap dancing.

There are about five cars honking now, and in the distance, a guy is yelling from his truck.

“They will wait,” I say.

“Will you pass along to the establishment that there’s this woman who works at the drive-thru, this great WOman, making a very big difference at this establishment, who is, is radiant like an angel and who makes a heart POUND and could cause cardiovascular risk to certain customers? Men are crossing off every name they ever wrote in their little black books to make room for the name of Sedonie.”

Her eyes are huge. I might have been sort of yelling while talking, somehow.

A little worker dude with a baby mustache pokes his head around the window to get a glimpse of the crazy he has overheard.

“Everything okay over here?” lisps the little worker dude, adjusting his visor. I feel like my life might depend on this moment in time, and baby mustache boy is in the way, so I hit him with my fastest, meanest glare which I have practiced to perfection.

He does not move.

“Please go find a bug in somebody’s biscuit, boy. I’m not done,” I say.

More cars honking. Dudie looks at Sedonie. She gestures “go away” with her head and the little dude disappears. Sedonie uncrosses her arms and leans forward.

So I go on speaking to the beauty.

“You tell your bosses’ bosses that a raise won’t do, a promotion won’t do. You, woman, belong at the top of the kingdom with a sparkly unicorn to ride in the sunset, and a golden crown.”

She puts her head to one side. She is paying attention but I am not sure if she is going to laugh or cry.

I say, “if you have any kind of man in your life, he ain’t good enough for you, never was and never will be. Will you tell them that?”

Now her face looks like she just got handed a tubful of kittens.

“I’ll tell them, Grady Asbell,” she says, “And I’ll see you at home at two o’clock a.m. And yes, I forgive you.”

I drive home with the radio off, and park my truck. A raincloud opens up right next to a huge full moon, and moonlight spatters so pretty through the rain and the branches and the Spanish moss that hangs from the trees, that I eat the fries and burgers there in the truck, and watch the show.

What moonlight does. Even the gravel looks pretty.

I walk in the house and go upstairs and fold down the edge of the quilt on Sedonie’s side of the bed.