I blinked once, lying comfortably in my bed.

Another blink and suddenly, I was standing before a fryer, feeling the pop of hot grease on my skin. 

Yep, I'm at work, barely awake. The grease burns always remind me. 

Oh. Here she comes. The manager who treats this place like a Fortune 100 business when it's anythign but

I needed to escape the oil burning my eyes, so I made an excuse to take the trash outside. Right when I stepped out, I was hit with relatively clean air and sunshine in my face.

I didn’t use my one-time break yet, so I’m savoring every minute I have out here. 

It was satisfying to see the birds fly by, shitting on what they pleased. The streets were alive with the symphony of cars honking, dogs barking, and the sound of my pothead co-worker pissing out in the open. I think I’ve seen enough.

Indoors, I was approached by the nice elderly lady who worked alongside me and the others. She worked the morning shift and usually took off an hour after I arrived.  This left me with people I didn't get 

along with as much, having to decide whether to focus solely on my work and ignore them or try to interact with them. Yet, it was like talking to a brick wall.

"Hello there, pudding. What kept you?" the lady greeted with a smile on her weathered face.

"I was just taking out the trash and..." 

"I know you went to get some fresh air," she gently interrupted while chuckling. "I wasn’t born yesterday. I pulled the same trick before. Always finding little ways to take time for myself. I’ve seen you do it countless times, but I never minded."

I grinned as I leaned against the counter while crossing my arms. "Did you get away with it as much as I do?"

"Oh, I have. Taking the trash out, having paid-time-off, and restroom breaks. So many different ways. But you’ll also have to remember that it’s a band-aid on your problems. And eventually, you’ll have to rip it off. So don’t make it become more than a habit."

"I’ll keep that in mind," I said quietly. "I appreciate you looking out for me. Although I have to ask, how long have you worked at this location again?"

“I've been going at this for about twenty years," she reminisced.

“Goodness," I remarked, amazed at her dedication. She’d been around here long enough to see people come and go. But I’m not going to stick around here long, let alone twenty years.

"Yes, I've been trying to save up for college to become a nurse. I couldn't go back when I was your age since they didn't allow us back then," she revealed, speaking about a harsh reality of the past.  

"That's terrible. Why not?" I asked, wondering what deep pain she'd buried.  

"Well, honey child, it wasn't as simple as just choosing a career path.  Way back when nursing schools and hospitals had rules that said folks like me couldn't join their ranks.  They'd say we weren't fit to be nurses just because of the color of our skin. Can you imagine that?" 

"I can't. It must have been awful for you to go through that,”

"Oh, it was, dear. But, as you can see, things have changed since then. I'm grateful for the chance to finally pursue my dream career. Heavens, I'm grateful enough to have this job. I may be approaching my seventies soon, but it's never too late, you know. You’re young! You’re still figuring things out. Besides, life doesn’t always go the way you plan, but you’ll just have to let it roll."

"Yeah," I replied in a whisper. "Easier said than done."

Despite my demeanor, her words resonated with me a bit.

But that didn’t last long when we found ourselves interrupted by the she-wolf, our manager, who ripped the hope right out of me. Her stern voice cut through our conversation.  

"Mr. Rodriguez! Mrs. Monique! What are y'all doing standing around here chit-chatting?" 

Mrs. Monique tried to reason with her, saying, “We were just talking, and-” 

"Well, you don't have time for that. Y'all need to get back to your stations!" 

"Ah yes miss, sorry miss. I'll get right on it," she responded, sweating nervously.  

I muttered under my breath, saying, "Whatever...damn bitch." 

"Excuse me?" The manager's voice sharpened up, catching what I'd said.  

"Yes....ma'am," I reluctantly responded with a flat tone.  

The manager went back to her little office, watching our every move on the many security cameras.  

Ms. Monique was on clean-up duty while I was back near the fryer.  

...

The process continues. 

We fry, they buy. Days went by with the same old routine.

Go to work, go home. 

Go to work, go home.

Go to work, go home.

Those days turned into weeks until Friday hit.

Something felt different today. An impending doom and gloom. Smells like rush hour. 

...

That doesn't sound too good. 

“Hey, the grill’s acting up,” I called out to no one in particular. “Someone tell—”

“I’m not dealing with all that right now,” a voice chimed back.

Fine. I'll figure it out.

Unfortunately, they turned out raw.  

I've had mishaps before where I accidentally overlapped some patties and they'd have to be thrown in the bin, but it hasn't been much of a problem since. 

I sighed as I rushed over to toss the patties out and wait for any further instructions, but the manager’s bossy boots walked over where I was at and she stood before me with her arms crossed over her chest. 

"What's going on here, Mr. Rodriguez?" the manager demanded, her tone sharp as she pressed me. 

I attempted to explain, "Sorry, ma'am, but the patties didn't cook correctly. I was told that the grill-".

"Don't give me excuses, Mr. Rodriguez! This isn't the first time you've messed up," she said, shaking her head while she interrupted me. "From what I've heard, you've been consuming supply! We can't afford to keep someone who can't follow simple instructions and eats into our profits.  I'm sorry, but I have no choice. You need to leave.”

It was a special kind of disappointment, confusion, and embarrassment that I hadn't felt in a while. And it all happened at once.

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. “I see. When’s my last day?”

“How about, today, Rodriguez. Clock out," she said bluntly.

I kept trying to press the issue until she decided that she had enough and told me for a final time to leave.

Without hesitation, I ran to the soda machine to get a drink, checked out, and stormed to my car, not looking back.

I sat there trying to put everything into perspective.  It all happened so fast and things seemed to be going fine up until that moment. I looked up and saw Ms. Monique, who was outside having a smoke break. She spotted me and walked over.

"Florence, I saw you run out the store all willy-nilly. What happened?" she asked, taking a drag from her cigarette.

I sighed, messing with my hair. "She told me to leave."

"The manager?" she said as she raised an eyebrow with her arms folded.

"Yeah. The patties on the grill came out raw even though the machine wasn’t working properly," I explained, trying to downplay my frustration.

"Well, of course they did!" she exclaimed. "That old rust bucket always had something wrong with it, and she knows that.  If anything, they could have temporarily closed shop just to have the repairman come fix it.  They 

have another one of these blocks away. They can afford it."

I shook my head. "She didn’t see it that way. Besides, I can’t show my face there again."

"I understand," she said with a nod. After a brief pause, she continued, "Well, it was fun while it lasted. Moments like these pass. But you gotta keep going. Just because you were forced to stop here doesn’t mean that you can’t reach your destination. What are your goals?"

“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about that. My main goal is to find something meaningful to do with myself. But right now, my path seems kinda limited." 

This seemed like a step in the right direction at first since I never had an actual job before this, but now I’m left wondering if I’m even starting off on the right track. This was only a temporary gig, after all. A gig that I had to settle for when no one else called and when nothing else was available. 

But I just cannot be passionate about this job, yet it’s the only source of income I have.

Really, it’s not just about having a specific job or career.  It’s about finding something that gives my life meaning, where I can make a real impact. That’s what I’m searching for.

"Finding your path can be tough," she said. "You know, I’ve had my fair share of dead-end jobs. But with every experience, good or bad, you can learn a little something."

After I felt like there was no other questions to ask, I decided to take leave. 

I blurted out to her, "You know... I should get your number. I mean, I don’t know when I’ll be able to call you, but..." 

"It’s alright," she reassured me with her soft voice. "I understand what you are about to say. Life gets in the way. Just... whenever you do, it’ll be good enough for me."

We said our goodbyes as I drove away from the parking lot. I looked at the rear-view mirror, looking back one last time. It wasn’t specifically at that giant grease trap itself, but the elder lady.

Despite the valuable advice she has given me about moving forward, it wasn’t looking like she was going anywhere. Spending twenty more years clocking in and out until the end. She probably wouldn’t get any kind of valuable recognition for it either and would be easily replaced. It was sad, but she seemed okay with it, in her own way. 

Meanwhile, I don't know where to begin and who knows what tomorrow holds for me. 

But I have to keep driving.