Scene 7 - Mopping Up
Joel and Jamal stood on the asphalt that looped behind Frylies. Joel was studying the menu that housed the drive-thru speaker. Jamal wasn’t sure what they were looking at.
“You know, it’s really a shame,” Joel began, straightening and looking around their surroundings, “The interference, I mean.”
“Interference?”
Joel gestured to the lots surrounding the restaurant. “What do you see?”
Jamal covered his eyes to shield them from the low morning sun. He looked out across the parking lot. “I see a strip mall. There’s a Starbucks, a dental place, pet grooming-“
“Cell tower,” Joel said. “Right next to the lot.”
Jamal followed his gaze.
“Huh.”
Joel tilted his head toward the speaker.
“Wouldn’t take much for something like that to interfere.”
Joel’s last statement hung in the air, more of a question than a statement.
Jamal looked at Joel, then to the drive-thru, then back to Joel.
“Yeah,” he began, slowly, “All those signals. No telling the interference that might happen.”
“Probably intermittent, too. A nightmare to debug.”
Jamal’s furrowed brow while trying to follow these breadcrumbs suddenly brightened.
“We’d have to pull ‘em to the window, go face-to-face.”
Joel leaned over, pretending to listen to the speaker. “Do you hear some static? I think I hear some glitchiness this morning. So random.”
“I’ll make a sign, tell people to pull forward, and order at the window.”
“We apologize for the inconvenience, and that they should pull forward to the window.” Joel corrected, “And only as long as it is intermittent. Seriously.”
Joel turned to return to the store.
“Let’s get that sign posted. I have a feeling today is going to be a busy day for us.”
#
Jamal leaned forward.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, “Good morning! Glad you’re here. How ya doing?”
For a brief moment, Jamal felt himself involuntarily tense, waiting for an unwelcome vibration at the back of his head. Or red text to suddenly fill his peripheral vision. Gloriously, there was neither.
He relaxed.
Rosa moved behind him to restock bags.
She didn’t say anything.
But she didn’t stare daggers at him, either. It was a start.
The driver of the older model sedan looked up.
“Oh, you know,” they said while gesturing vaguely toward the road in front of them, “work.”
“Yeah, I hear that,” he said, “How ‘bout we make that better? What can I getcha, Boss?”
The End
For additional material about this story, along with the accompanying playlist, check out the General American background and playlist.