Flash Fiction Grill

A waitress comes through the swinging door of the kitchen holding a tray of dirty glasses, plates, silverware, and a large amount of uneaten food. Jessie notices the tray as it passes by the counter and sees that the undesired meal was a pork chop that he cooked earlier. It’s the third pork chop he’s seen half-eaten tonight, and the couscous side is the same: still on the plate. Jessie thinks about all the pork chops he’s grilled since the dish was added to the menu, and then he thinks about the cutting and preparation that went in before the meat was cooked. He thinks about the burns on his wrist, and the bandage he wrapped over a cut on his middle finger the night before.  The bandage is coming loose and Jessie will have to redress it soon because it slips when he handles the frying pan. Jessie wipes the sweat from his forehead and looks at the ticket in the counter window, another pork chop.

“Jesus, no one’s eating the pork,” Jessie moans while removing a slab of meat from a plastic container in the refrigerated storage bin next to the grill.

                “It’s getting pulled next week, I talked to Anne,” Ramon is mixing some veggies in a large pan next to Jessie as he responds. Ramon is Jessie’s boss and the head chef of The Red House. Jessie shakes his head and flips the pork chop on the grill before stirring a boiling pot of water for his couscous.

                “About time. Think you can cover for me in a minute Ramon? I gotta fix this bandage.”

                “Si, just finish that plate first,” Jessie pokes the slab of meat to determine how much longer it needs to cook and dumps a cupful of couscous into the boiling water. There aren’t too many tickets coming in tonight, which is steadily becoming a trend on weekends. The Red House had been failing for several months because of internal conflicts between staff and the owners. Jessie had never disputed with the owners until they fired John, the head chef before Ramon. John had a strong personality, perfect for organizing and commanding a busy kitchen. Ramon can hardly speak English.

                Jessie flips the pork chop once more, sees that it’s ready and places it on the counter next to the grill. He drains the couscous and gathers a plate from above the counter. Using a spoon, he places the couscous in the center of the plate before cutting open the pork chop. He arranges the sliced meat next to the couscous and lifts the dish into the window. After pulling the ticket from the window and calling for a server, Jessie signals to Ramon and walks to the back of the kitchen.

                Striding down a closeted hallway, Jessie approaches the bathroom and removes the soiled bandage before opening the door. He washes his hands, giving extra attention to the pale, bloodied spot on his finger. After drying off, Jessie opens the first aid kit in the cupboard underneath the sink. He rummages through its contents trying to find a Band-Aid, but the one he just threw out was the last. Cursing to himself, Jessie decides to use a strip of medical tape. As he pulls a small square from the roll he feels a vibration in his pocket. Placing the tape on the counter, he takes out his cell phone and sees an incoming call from an unknown number. He answers and has a brief conversation with the owner of Michelle’s, scheduling an interview for the head chef position at their new location down the street from The Red House. Jessie hangs up the phone and smiles at himself in the mirror before rushing out the door, back to the kitchen. Wind from the closing door blows the contents of the open first aid kit around the counter, spinning the medical tape into the sink.