Casual Conversations

I took part in a sort of "fast food conversation" on my fifth day, but it slipped my mind when I wrote the original post.

I was clocking back in after my break, and there was a girl waiting to do the same thing ahead of me. She told the manager her number was 73 and walked away.

(I'll indent my parts in this conversation)

"What's your number?"
"She left."
"Where'd she go? What's her number."
___"I think it's 73."
"Just hold on a second. Does anybody know her number?"
"It's 45 or something."
___"I'm almost sure it's 73."
"Wait a second. Is it 60 something? Someone call her back here."
___"She said it was 73."
"Hey, you left without telling me your number."
"It's 73."
"Okay."

That was the first time I smiled that entire day, although the threat of an eyeball punch was equally enjoyable.

Now that it's two days since my burn, I can clearly see what the scar is going to look like for the rest of my life. It's the biggest scar I've ever gotten.

I'm sort of torn between disregard and anger over that permanent reminder of what hell the Franchise is. It's like someone tattooing you without your permission. Then again, it's on my elbow. If it were on my face, I'd have gone postal.
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4:31 PM, July 29, 2005

I really like your blog. It's fresh.    



6:30 PM, July 29, 2005

I've had some awful jobs in my day (in fact, I'm in one right now) but never had the pleasure of working in fast food. Thanks for reminding me of how lucky I was! :)    



8:29 PM, July 29, 2005

Thanks for the comments. If either of you want to trade links ever, just e-mail me... although it's sort of odd to know that Beckeye and I both know things like RRK, DVE, and where the fries are put at Primanti's.    



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