Page 27 of Run Away Home: Tempered

Danny smiles.

“Okay. I’m going to my room. Matt and I are going to plan the party for Saturday. We’re gonna FaceTime.”

“Just let me know what you want to bring to the party. Dinner will be ready soon.”

“All right.”

Danny runs into his room. Peter looks at me and sighs, then walks back into the kitchen.

Peter

DING. I hear the bell, but I’m on the phone.

“What side did you want with that?” My accent is stronger than usual. Maybe when she comes to pick up her food, she’ll say,Who was that dreamy man on the phone with the Scottish accent? Here’s a great big tip for him!It sounds stupid, but sometimes it happens!

“What sides do you have?” the woman on the phone asks.

Not the most enthusiastic response...

“Fries, onion rings, mashed potatoes, vegetable of the day, salad,” I say.

Ding. Ding.He rings the bell two more times.

I prop the phone on my shoulder and turn to look at the cook, Ralph, through the kitchen window. I throw my hands up at him and signal to the phone.

“What’s the vegetable of the day?”

“Green beans.”

“I’ll just take fries.”

“Anything else?”

“This food is sitting here and getting cold, you stupid mick,” Ralph yells.

Did this motherfucker really just say that to me?

“Your total is twenty-one dollars and forty-five cents. It’ll be about twenty-five minutes.”

I hang up without saying goodbye to the customer and head to the kitchen window. He’s already back at the grill flipping burgers. I pound on the bell furiously. He looks over at me. I keep pounding. He walks to the window.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asks.

“How does it feel? To be working while someone is ringing the bell over and over, demanding your attention? It’s frustrating, huh?” I ask, hiding my accent again. I try to turn it on and off as best as I can at work, but people can still hear it a little. It’s impossible to get rid of it completely.

“I’m the one that rings the bell, not you,” he says as I pick up the two plates.

I put the plates back down and ring the bell with emphasis. “Don’t.” I ring it again. “Ever.” I ring it a third time. “Call me.” One more ring. “A mick.”

“Go back to your own country. Then you won’t have to worry about that.” He returns to the grill.

Fat, hairy basturt.

I pick up the plates and head to my table. All the shit I get for being a foreigner at this job, and I’m white! Imagine if I was Black or brown?

I hope Danny doesn’t have a hard time later on in life. I don’t know if he’s ever experienced racism before. He’s never said anything to me about it, and I don’t really want to have that conversation unless he brings it up. I don’t want to be the one to point out to him that he’s different. I’m sure he knows, but, hell! Just the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. I fucking hate it.

I approach the table with the two plates.

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