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There was no need to set my alarm. Bandito was tapping my back gently with his paw. He does this when he needs to go potty. I look out the window and admire the beautiful pre-dawn indigo colored sky. I see that it is 5:10, so I turn the alarm to off. Bandito is staring down at my face like he is in a hurry. His muzzle is turning gray now. He used to be pitch black from head to foot. Bonita, who is pumpkin in color, peeks her head out from under the covers. “Okay! Just a minute. Let me get some shoes on.” I had slept in my sweats, so there was no need to change into clothes. They start bouncing around on the bed like excited children. The holding tank still has an unpleasant odor. I will need to empty and refill that one more time before I go to work. After leashing up the dogs, I carefully unhook the battered door and hook it open to the outer wall of the trailer with the bungee cord, then close the screen door.
No one is around yet. I see lights on in some of the visiting RVs. The oil drum barbeque has a thin trail of smoke coming up from it, and I notice that the pile of cardboard boxes are now gone. The golf cart is still parked where Terry had left it last night. Bubba must have walked home. There is a dog looking at us from the lawn area next to the main building. It looks like one of those cattle herding dogs and does not seem interested in us. The dog lies back down on the porch area by the lawn.
Bonita and Bandito have done their business, so I return to the trailer. They climb back into bed and lay down. They know my routine. They do not bother with me until I’ve had my coffee, and today I need it bad!
While my bottled water is boiling on the Coleman stove, I walk around the trailer to open the holding tank drain valve. I’m hoping that this will do it as far as cleansing goes. I put the water hose into the toilet to refill the tank. I heat up some soymilk in the microwave, and put coffee in my small, single cup, Melitta drip filter. The tea kettle outside is beginning to whistle.
With hot coffee in hand, I sit and watch the sky turn to day and enjoy the quiet. A man walks along the shoreline of the lake with a fishing pole. I assume that Billy must stock the lake with trout. I hear the approaching quacks of the ducks as they waddle towards me along the shoreline coming from the direction of Bubba’s trailer. I can hear a logging truck coming down the highway. It barrels by, disturbing the peace and quiet of the morning, reminding me of what I got myself into—a working vacation. I turn off the hose and pull it back outside and take a second cup of coffee into the trailer to get ready for work.
My dogs begin to growl when they hear the heavy crunching of logging boots walking past my trailer. I look out to see Bubba passing by holding a cup of coffee. He hacks up a loogie and spits next to my trailer. What a gross man!
The group of quacking ducks is at the end of the ramp that leads to the kitchen. Bubba opens up a side storage unit and comes out with a pan full of feed. He carries the pan near to the lake. The ducks are quacking like crazy following him. They scramble to eat as fast as possible when he throws the seed on the ground. Bubba then disappears into the kitchen. Well, he can’t be all that bad if he likes ducks and feeds them! They must live down by his trailer.
By 6:30 I am adding the blue chemical into the toilet. I take the dogs out one more time, and then settle them in the trailer for the day. I’m hoping I get a lunch break so I can let them out for awhile. I leave only the screen door shut thinking that the dogs would at least have something to look at, and hopefully, not bark at. If I were to leave them in the fenced area they would bark all day! Fifteen minutes later I walk past two RVs waiting for propane on my way to the front entry of the main building. Stopping at the doorway I read the restaurant hours: 6:30AM to 8:00PM. Two cars and one motorcycle are in the parking lot. Billy’s van is off to the side near, what I think, is her connected home. I take several deep breaths and walk into the unknown.
A tall bulky woman wearing Bermuda shorts and a brilliant white T-shirt with the American flag imprinted on the front is standing behind the register. She looks to be my age and is admiring her long acrylic fingernails, which, even from ten feet away I can see, are also American flags. Because of her concentration on her nails at the moment, I have a few seconds to observe the restaurant area. There is no Bubba’s special, instead the chalkboard reads: ‘TRI-TIP BBQ TONIGHT! 4:00PM.’ People are at the tables eating huge piles of pancakes and hash browns. At the same moment that I am looking in the direction of the kitchen, Bubba walks over to the chest high meat counter holding a large chopping knife.
“KAREN! HOW DO THEY WANT THAT STEAK COOKED?”
“Rare!” I hear a voice answer, but do not see her.
Bubba’s eyes catch mine in a brief instant of recognition. He does not smile at me, but I smile at him. He turns around and lets loose with one single loud laugh. I exhale away my sudden irritation.
“I have the feeling you must be the new cook,” she says.
“Yes, I guess I am. Hi, I’m Denise.”
“Glad you’re here. I’m Helen.” Helen reaches out to shake my hand, but up high, with fingernails fluttering so I can take a better look I guess. We don’t really shake hands, as one would normally do. Instead, I am forced to take her hand softly, up high, like you would with a queen. I do not comment on her nails, because I personally think they’re horrid!
Helen starts taking charge of my day. “Billy and Ray are still sleeping, but she’ll be up after a bit and get you going later at the grill, probably for the lunch shift when Bubba has to get the barbeque going. Come on back here and I’ll show you our time sheets for the week. We have a lot of things to do today. It’s always crazy when we have a barbeque.”
I fill out my personal information and my time sheet for 7:00AM.
“Now I’ll take you over and introduce you to Bubba and Karen.”
I feel a knot clench up in my stomach at the thought of being face to face with Bubba.
Helen walks ahead of me. I now notice her red tennis shoes. She walks and dresses as if she does not realize that she is in her fifties. We walk past Karen who is taking an order from a family of five, probably RV guests, and Helen leads me behind the meat counter to the grill area. We pass the dishwashing area where many used plates, bowls, and cooking utensils are piled. Many of the plates have partially eaten pancakes on them. We then walk by a chopping table with a huge bowl filled with the makings of potato salad. Celery, onion, and black olives wait to be chopped next to the bowl. A vat of boiled potatoes are cooling and the skins are peeling and cracking. Bubba looks very serious as he turns the many piles of hash browns with one hand, and with the other hand he is rotating two fried eggs in a Teflon pan. A pile of bacon is being kept warm on the edge of the huge flat grill where the hash browns are cooking. The left over space on the flat grill is filled with three giant pancakes. There is a grated grill to the left of the flat grill that has two steaks sizzling with the smoke floating above in a thick layer. The microwave behind Bubba goes off with a high pitched buzz and Karen rushes past us on her way to some sort of cold storage unit located in-between the microwave and deep fryer.
“Bubba. This is Denise.” Helen stands there with her arms crossed keeping her distance from the grill area.
Bubba keeps up with the constant motion of cooking, but turns to acknowledge me. His eyes are bloodshot. He smiles, almost flirtatiously, and says, “LET ME FIX YA UP WITH SOME BREAKFAST. YUR GONNA NEED THE ENERGY TO MAKE IT THROUGH THIS DAY. SINCE I’M THE COOK, YUR GONNA HAVE TO TASTE WHAT BREAKFAST SHOULD TASTE LIKE.”
Bubba seems to be making it clear to me that he is the cook. Fine with me. He isn’t a bad looking man with his rosy cheeks and manly stature, but you can feel his intensity and see his puffed up chest and intimidating gestures. His stomach and overall
