“Who?”
“Mr. Frost.”
“Um…okay. Why?”
“That asshole sent me on a wild goose chase. This freaking place isn’t even open yet. I bet he didn’t even place an order. He just sent me here so he could poach Masquerade Records.”
“Let me ask him. One sec.” There was silence on the line for a minute. “He just showed me the order confirmation. It clearly says pickup for 11:15.”
“Then why the hell is this place empty? What happened to Germans being punctual? And who the hell orders German food? German cuisine isn’t a thing that people like. No one wants beer and pretzels and sausage. Actually, no one wants anything from Germany. What have they ever done for the world? They just run around yodeling in their stupid lederhosen and Hitler-staches. As far as I’m concerned, the sausage king can take his sausage and stick it up Mr. Frost’s ass.” As I finished my tirade, I couldn’t help but notice the delicious aroma of gingerbread wafting into my nose.
“Miss Cooper?” asked a deep voice behind me.
I spun around and came face to face with the source of the aroma - the sausage king himself. He looked like he was straight out ofsome weird crossover between Top Chef and an NFL broadcast.Chiseled beef towerwas, for some inexplicable reason, the first phrase that popped into my head. The second phrase wasshit,because he had definitely just heard my entire speech about how much German people sucked. And based on his blue eyes, blonde stubble, and the swastika on his sleeve… Just kidding. There was no swastika. The Nazis probably hadn’t even made arm bands big enough to fit his massive biceps.
What were the odds that he identified enough with German culture to be offended by what I had said? I mean…sure, he had apparently devoted his life to bringing German cuisine to the streets of New York, but that didn’t mean anything. I’d seen plenty of white dudes slinging Thai food. It didn’t mean they were from Thailand.
“Miss Cooper?” he said again. “I believe this is your order, ya?” He held up a big bag of takeout, but I was more focused on his very-German accent.
So much for him not really being German. “Uh, yup. That’s me.”
“I am so sorry to make you wait. May I offer you some complimentary wienerschnitzel?”
Weiner what?“No!”
He looked at me like I was crazy. “You do not like the wienerschnitzel? Perhaps you prefer lebkuchen? Or stollen?”
“Stalin? What does he have to do with this?”
The sausage king laughed. “Not the Russian dictator.Stollenis a traditional German fruit bread.”
“Well I don’t have time for any of that. I have to be back at my office in Midtown by noon.”
“Midtown? By noon?” He checked his expensive-looking watch. “How will you make it in time?”
“My Uber driver is…” I turned around to gesture to his car, but it was gone.Shit!“Where’d he go? I told him to wait.”
“That is not how the Uber works.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So what will you do?”
“I guess I’ll be late.” I got all sweaty as the harsh reality sunk in. One of my greatest fears was officially happening. I was going to be late. And then I was going to get fired. And then I was going to be homeless and die. My life was over.
“That is not acceptable.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. This is the most important meeting of my career, and I’m going to miss it.”
“No. You can still make it.”
“How? This is NYC, man. You can’t just hop on the autobahn and drive a million miles per hour.”
“Follow me.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his restaurant.
“Cooking me some complimentary wienerschnitzel isn’t going to help much when I get fired.”
He didn’t respond. He just laughed and kept pulling me through the back halls of his restaurant. And then he pulled me onto an elevator.
