“No,” his lip curled in a grimace. “I don’t trust food that comes from a truck.”
But he trusted the food here? Did he not hear the cook hacking up a lung, which by the way wasn’t caused by a sickness. Daryl smoked two packs a day. While he was cooking. Everyone got a little extra spice – or should I say ash – with their meal.
“What’s the special?”
Besides for salmonella with a side of E.coli? “Texan chili Muffaletta.”
“Oh, you have Texan food?”
“No.”
In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if the governor of Texas himself took a trip down here just to slap Victor for sullying the state's reputation.
Portly man in booth 2 narrowed his gaze, “But you just said…”
“I know what I said.” I also told him to go two blocks down, but he didn’t listen to that either.
“Alright,” he nodded. “I’ll have the special.”
“Your funeral,” I shrugged while scribbling down his order.
He chuckled when I walked away.
I don’t know what he thought was so funny? I was completely serious. Not even I would eat here. And I ate a questionable candy off my bedroom floor… this morning.
Tearing the order off my pad, I slapped the piece of paper down on the window between the front of the dinner and the kitchen. “Here you go.”
Daryl’s greasy face appeared in the opening, “you’re supposed to say order up.”
“I’m also supposed to smile at customers.”
To be fair I did try to come off as pleasant. I walked up to my first customer with a big smile on my face. He offered me a tip to stop. I was starting to think that facial expressions weren’t my forte.
Daryl pointed the lit end of a cigarette at me, “you should smile.”
“Uh huh?” My brow rose as a large ash dropped down and floated behind the window. “Are you gonna smile when you die of lung cancer?”
“You sound like my wife,” he said with an annoyed eye roll.
Hold up.“You’re married.”
Who would want to fall asleep next to that every day? Don’t get me wrong, Daryl wasn’t hideous or anything, but I don’t think him and hygiene were on speaking terms.
“Yes, I’m married,” not sure why he sounded all insulted. “Going on ten years now.”
Huh. I guess there really was someone for everyone. Go figure.
“If you perked up every once and while, then you might find someone too. A little friendliness goes a long way, Nova.”
I didn’t ask for Daryl’s opinion. When I wanted to know how many cancer sticks I could suck back in a minute, then I’d seek out his professional expertise. Sometime around divorcenumber two I figured. The alcohol dependency could start with number one. I had to pace out the addictions after all. Besides…
“I’m friendly.” I shot back at him, with a little extra snark.
Daryl snatched the piece of paper from the window and gave me a side eye, “telling customers to go to a food truck isn’t friendly.”
I disagreed. “Rescuing someone from the consequences of their mistakes is a very friendly act.”
“Bullshit,” his tobacco stained finger pointed at me. “The only person you want to rescue is yourself, from doing any actual work.”
