Sunday, October 18th, 2020

Workers swarm behind the counter at the burger joint. It’s the first night of the lighter lockdown, so they can do takeout. Over a dozen buns are arrayed on a countertop, with burgers in various states of completion. Most have lettuce and tomato, but they offer a lot of other elements. Many have hummus and tahini. Some get fried eggs, but only as the very last thing put on them before the bun is closed. The boss is taking rapidfire orders on the phone at the register. My usual cashier, who is slicing buns, sees me come in. “Hi! How are you?” I’m doing OK. They’re going crazy. The boss looks over to me. “You want takeaway?” I do. “We have a lot of orders. It might be maybe twenty five minutes. Is that OK?” I’m in no hurry. I order my usual mushroom burger, sweet potato fries, and diet soda. “Give me your phone number. I call you when it is ready.” I pay and take the customer receipt. There’s a bench outside the medical center across the walkway. I sit down, put my headphones back on, and continue listening to a symposium on radical Jewish poetry. People and animals wander by. Many of the men carry bags from the burger joint and pizzas from the place next door. They drop the bags into containers on powered bikes and scooters and zoom off. Teenage girls in cut-off shorts walk in pairs, each staring at her phone. A dog, off leash, trots by. Every so often, it stops and waits for a man walking with a cane to get nearer, though he never catches up. Cats dash across the street. Many double back abruptly when traffic comes around the bend. About half an hour later, I wander back to the burger joint and wait outside. After a few minutes, the boss sees me and calls my name. “We’re sorry. Your order is not yet ready. This has been the busiest night that we have seen. Can you wait another ten minutes? Can I give you something to drink, a soda or ice tea, for free while you wait?” Thanks. I stand outside with a soda. Just as I finish it, he calls my name again and holds up a bag. “Here you are. Thank you very very much for your patience.” No problem. I take the bag and head home. Along the way, I pick up a foot rest from the trash heap. It’s dusty, but otherwise it’ll be perfect for in front of my TV.