THE WRITER MUST EAT -> patreon.com/trn1ty <- blah! ideas with no tangibility; ideas with irrelevant supports; ideas without value; ideas' witlessness; ideas' witnesses; ideas- <^>
2023-01-07 2022-05-04 Orientation Olive arrived the next day at 9 o'clock antemeridian having been informed of the time she'd start work two hours prior via electronic mail. She entered the restaurant via the two sets of glass double doors and walked to the counter. "Hi, I'm Olive, I'm here for my first day of work here." The kid at the counter looked like they hadn't slept in weeks. "Hi Olive, I'll go get the manager." They disappeared and returned from the back of the restaurant which didn't seem to be lit, accompanied by a man Olive hadn't met. He grimaced in an attempt to smile. "Hi Olive. Usually Paul would be here but he's out sick." "Sick? I spoke with him at length yesterday in his office – should I quarantine?" "No, the only thing of Paul's that was contagious was his smile." The man grimaced again. "Come with me, I'll show you the kitchen." Olive, lead by the new supervisor, followed into the dim kitchen, lit by a single red-tinted bulb. Another kid, apparently lacking more sleep than the first, stood at a tall stainless steel table on which four machines sat. On the far right was the paper dispenser; it dispensed paper wrappers for the burgers, operated by button press. The bun dispenser, operated by lever, deposited refined-grain sesame seed buns of 12 centimeter diameter, the bottom landing on one corner of the paper and the top landing on another. The patty dispenser, operated by plunging lever, was a conveyor belt that lead to the kitchen from nowhere immediately discernible to Olive. On metal wires it would push patties, two at a time, to the table. The final machine dispensed an orange mixture (that smelled like cheese and ketchup) and was operated by flip lever – flipped one way, it dispensed enough syrup for one burger, flipped the other way, it dispensed enough for another. Shik-shik, puk-puk, hrnnnnn, click. The kid at the table made two burgers at a time before wrapping them and sending them out. Next to the table, on the red tiled floor, was a bucket of waste. Olive gestured to it. "Do you do composting?" "Oh, no, of course not. We need to count out waste. How many burgers tossed, how many buns tossed, et cetera. We've had issues with employees stealing product." "Oh." Olive stared in the bucket. It held a soup of cheese/ketchup, grease, mushed bread, and dissolving wrappers. "You count out everything in there?" "Yup, that's not exactly my favorite part of this job." The supervisor turned to the table kid. "Daniel, this is Olive." "Hi Olive." Daniel turned back to his hell. The supervisor turned back to Olive. "You'll be replacing Daniel. Watch how he works so you know what you'll be doing." Olive kept staring in the bucket. "Do you have any sort of official procedure sheets?" "Yes, but you aren't allowed to see them." Olivia's eyes moved from the bucket to the conveyor. "Oh." That was OK. Here's how I'd write it now: Orientation Olive arrived the next day at 900 on two hours'notice. She entered the restaurant via two sets of glass double doors and walked to the counter. Holding the register was a teenager who looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Olive read his nametag. Sam. "Hi Sam, I'm Olive, I'm here for my first day of work here." "Hi Olive, I'll go get the manager." He disappeared into the back of the restaurant, which Olive noticed was lit dimly if at all, and returned with a man in a black uniform. The man grimaced in an attempt to smile. "Hi Olive. Usually Paul, the manager with whom you spoke yesterday, would be here, but he's out sick." "Oh. Should I be here then? The interview was in an enclosed space and for a little while." Sam brought out the bag for an order as they talked. He pulled a receipt off a clip hanging from one of the shelves behind him, strafed over to the soda fountain, and started pouring drinks. A set of hands pushed a burger onto the other shelf and then receded back into the darkness. "No, it's not contagious - fortunately. Plus the restuarant is very well ventilated. The only thing of Paul's that was contagious was his smile." The man grimaced again. Olive noticed the use of past tense. "Come with me, I'll show you the kitchen." Olive, lead by the supervision, stepped behind the counter, between the two stainless steel shelves, carefully through a brief corridor between shelves holding room-temperature ingredients, and followed around the end of the shelf on the right to the small kitchen which she noticed was lit by a single red incandescent bulb. Another teenager stood at a waist-level stainless steel table onto which four machines dispensed paper wrappers, sesame-seed buns, beef patties, and some sort of sauce. Four tubes ran to the table; two from the floor and one each from the ceiling and a refrigerator-sized machine behind the kid that had a large steel tube chimney vent also routed towards, eventually, the sky. The kid at the table made a sandwich in a rhythmic beat. Shik-shik. The paper dispenser was a box sort of shaped like a printer with a large black button that used the mechanical force of the button press to separate and spit out the burger wrapper. The box extended past the edge of the table and a large stainless steel tube extended from its bottom through the floor. The papers had red splotches on them, like there was an accident in printing. Puk-puk. The bun dispenser was a tube that ran down from the ceiling towards the table with a lever on the front. The lever rotated a gear inside the tube so it could dispense a single twelve-centimeter sesame seed bun, fluffy enough to not be damaged upon hitting the bun wrapper. Hrnnnnn. The patty dispenser, operated by foot pedal, was a conveyer belt within a thick tube that carried a freshly-broiled hamburger patty; the Durmer Burger signature patty, in fact. It came pre-seasoned. Click. The sauce dispenser resembled a sink faucet, with a tube a couple centimeters in diameter running from a valve in the floor under the table to the hook-shaped dispenser section. On the front it had a flip lever - flipped one way, it dispensed enough syrup for one burger, flipped the other way, it dispensed enough for another. The large handle made a gentle but audible click as it toggled. The signature Durmer Burger sauce was orange and smelled to Olive like a mix of cheese and ketchup but she figured it would be naive of her to assume that was all it was. Shik-shik. Puk-puk. Hrnnnnn. Click. Then he wrapped them and pushed them through the shelf into the light behind it. Next to the table, on the red tiled floor, was a bucket, a third full, of various decomposing ingredients. Olive pointed at it and turned to the manager. "Do you do composting?" "Oh, no, not here." He chuckled, which came out as a low growl. "We count out waste to make sure the inventory sums out. A couple years ago we had some problems with an employee stealing a ton of stuff from here so it's just in case it happens again. Probably not really necessary but it's what the higher-ups want." "Oh." Olive stared in the bucket. It held a soup of sauce, grease, the remnants of some buns, and slowly-dissolving wrappers. "You count out everything in there?" "Yeah. Not exactly sunshine and roses." The supervisor spoke a little louder. "Daniel." The table teen, presumably Daniel, looked up from making sandwiches. "This is Olive." Daniel looked towards Olive's knees. "Hi Olive." He turned back to his table. The manager turned back to Olive. "You'll be replacing Daniel. Watch how he works so you know what you'll be doing." Olive kept staring in the bucket. "Do you have any sort of procedure sheets anywhere?" "Probably. I've only seen glimpses. They keep it under wraps. This is more sort of a word-of-mouth, creative job. You do things the best you can." "Alright, cool." I don't like chocolate. <^>
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