Ducky Park
"Hot dogs sounds easy enough," You tell your uncle.
"Good," He says, "It's right between the wooden coaster and the big screen theatre. There's only one guy working the stand, and he can probably use the help."
"Alright," You say. He walks away from you and you are left standing there for a few moments before you realize that it's probably best if you hurry along and give the lone man on the hotdog stand a hand.
You walk through the park, smiling at the families, tipping your hat to the ladies, and waving to the children. A few minutes later you see the hotdog stand where a long line waits to be served. You move past them quickly and get behind the counter.
"Hi," You say to the stressed looking guy behind the counter. He is about your age and seems very rushed. "MY name is Ricky, I'll be working with you today."
"Great," He says, "Why don't you get the fries out of the grease?"
You do as he asks and work with the food while he runs the register and serves then customers. Eventually the line does die down and the crowd disperses. Your workmate is visibly relaxed, his muscles go lax and he sits in the chair behind the counter.
"Ah, damn," He says, wiping some sweat from his brow. "It's rushed like that for ten minutes every half hour. Other than that this is a pretty relaxed little food stand. The people that come out of the big screen theatres usually stop for food, but that's about it."
You nod in reply, not really sure how you should reply to his words.
"What did you say your name was again?" He asks.
"Ricky," You tell him. He shakes your hand and introduces himself as Steve.
You don't talk much during the slow time. You tell him where you went to school and he tells you the same. And then the crowd is there and you are working your ass off again, pulling hotdogs off of the cooker with metal tongs and filling little cardboard trays with fries.
It is just after you place a dog in a bun and start to grab the fries that you drop the tongs into the bubbling grease. You curse aloud and reach in after it.
The moment your hand hits the grease your teeth clench tight and cut into your tongue. The pain from your tongue bite is nowhere near the pain your hand and upper arm are going through. But you are a trooper and you reach to the bottom and pull the tongs out successfully.
You turn around to see everyone staring at you in shock, mouths agape and eyes wide. That's when you realize that you are still screaming in pain. You stop yelling and fight back your tears enough to mutter "I got the tongs back."
"Christ, man," Steve says, "We have more tongs. You could have let those go."
"My hand hurts," You say.
"You should probably go have that looked at," he tells you.
"It hurts," You say again.
"I don't think I want those fries anymore," one of the customers says before walking away.
"Ow," You say.
Steve grabs you by the back of the shirt and leads you out of the hotdog stand. "Get the fuck out of here, you retard. Go get your stupid hand looked at. Damn!"
You stand there for a minute staring at the bright red skin on your arm and start looking for your uncle Jim. After asking enough people, you locate your uncle and he sends you to the hospital. They treat your burns and send you walking home.
When you get home your father is all smiles. You tell him what happened and he says that he already knows. He lets you sit on the couch and watch TV all day. He serves you food and drink whenever you need it, and even helps you hobble over to the bathroom when you need to go.
Later that night, while you watch reruns of Rocco's Modern Life, your father talks excitedly on the phone with someone. When he gets off of the telephone he is all smiles. He comes in and gives you a hug.
"This is great," He tells you. "Ducky Park is going to settle for $50,000! I haven't seen that much money since... I've never seen that much money!"
He slaps you on the back. "That ought to get us through another year here. After that you'll get hurt at another job and we can sue them! We're gonna be rich, Ricky. Thanks to you!"
You tell him that you need another soda and he nods enthusiastically. "You're the best son ever," he says as he leaves the room to get you some more cola.
A Girls Gone Wild commercial comes on the TV and you smile serenely, content with the state of things and the censored exhibitionism before you. You have Ducky Park to thank.
"Good," He says, "It's right between the wooden coaster and the big screen theatre. There's only one guy working the stand, and he can probably use the help."
"Alright," You say. He walks away from you and you are left standing there for a few moments before you realize that it's probably best if you hurry along and give the lone man on the hotdog stand a hand.
You walk through the park, smiling at the families, tipping your hat to the ladies, and waving to the children. A few minutes later you see the hotdog stand where a long line waits to be served. You move past them quickly and get behind the counter.
"Hi," You say to the stressed looking guy behind the counter. He is about your age and seems very rushed. "MY name is Ricky, I'll be working with you today."
"Great," He says, "Why don't you get the fries out of the grease?"
You do as he asks and work with the food while he runs the register and serves then customers. Eventually the line does die down and the crowd disperses. Your workmate is visibly relaxed, his muscles go lax and he sits in the chair behind the counter.
"Ah, damn," He says, wiping some sweat from his brow. "It's rushed like that for ten minutes every half hour. Other than that this is a pretty relaxed little food stand. The people that come out of the big screen theatres usually stop for food, but that's about it."
You nod in reply, not really sure how you should reply to his words.
"What did you say your name was again?" He asks.
"Ricky," You tell him. He shakes your hand and introduces himself as Steve.
You don't talk much during the slow time. You tell him where you went to school and he tells you the same. And then the crowd is there and you are working your ass off again, pulling hotdogs off of the cooker with metal tongs and filling little cardboard trays with fries.
It is just after you place a dog in a bun and start to grab the fries that you drop the tongs into the bubbling grease. You curse aloud and reach in after it.
The moment your hand hits the grease your teeth clench tight and cut into your tongue. The pain from your tongue bite is nowhere near the pain your hand and upper arm are going through. But you are a trooper and you reach to the bottom and pull the tongs out successfully.
You turn around to see everyone staring at you in shock, mouths agape and eyes wide. That's when you realize that you are still screaming in pain. You stop yelling and fight back your tears enough to mutter "I got the tongs back."
"Christ, man," Steve says, "We have more tongs. You could have let those go."
"My hand hurts," You say.
"You should probably go have that looked at," he tells you.
"It hurts," You say again.
"I don't think I want those fries anymore," one of the customers says before walking away.
"Ow," You say.
Steve grabs you by the back of the shirt and leads you out of the hotdog stand. "Get the fuck out of here, you retard. Go get your stupid hand looked at. Damn!"
You stand there for a minute staring at the bright red skin on your arm and start looking for your uncle Jim. After asking enough people, you locate your uncle and he sends you to the hospital. They treat your burns and send you walking home.
When you get home your father is all smiles. You tell him what happened and he says that he already knows. He lets you sit on the couch and watch TV all day. He serves you food and drink whenever you need it, and even helps you hobble over to the bathroom when you need to go.
Later that night, while you watch reruns of Rocco's Modern Life, your father talks excitedly on the phone with someone. When he gets off of the telephone he is all smiles. He comes in and gives you a hug.
"This is great," He tells you. "Ducky Park is going to settle for $50,000! I haven't seen that much money since... I've never seen that much money!"
He slaps you on the back. "That ought to get us through another year here. After that you'll get hurt at another job and we can sue them! We're gonna be rich, Ricky. Thanks to you!"
You tell him that you need another soda and he nods enthusiastically. "You're the best son ever," he says as he leaves the room to get you some more cola.
A Girls Gone Wild commercial comes on the TV and you smile serenely, content with the state of things and the censored exhibitionism before you. You have Ducky Park to thank.
