Four or five people were standing against the wall opposite the counter in the corner burger joint. Outside, the two-degree-below-zero temperature had turned their cheeks red. Those who had placed their orders stepped aside with their coats draped over their arms, staring blankly, waiting for someone to call their order number.
Melinda positioned herself as far from the other customers as possible. She didn’t take off her coat, only unbuttoned it. She went crazy if she had to hold the thick, warm fabric in her hands. She preferred to have her arms free. She never even slung a purse over them. She gazed longingly at the tables, thinking how much easier and better it would be to sit down, set her things on a table, and have lunch right there—calmly, comfortably. She could even have a coffee before returning to work.
“There’s your friend,” the cashier girl sneered to the cook rushing back into the kitchen.
“Which one? Miss Snooty?”
“That’s her,” the cashier giggled.
“I’ll spit in her burger, cheer her up a bit.”
“Do it for me, too,” grinned the cashier. “Ugh, I can’t stand that stuck-up brat,” she muttered to herself. “What can I get you?” she asked with a smile as the next customer approached the counter.
Melinda had been coming to the fast-food restaurant every Wednesday for a year. But despite being a regular customer, she wasn’t liked. She never smiled and never made small talk with anyone. She placed her order, paid, waited, and left with her food. Only the cook was unfazed by her strange demeanor, finding her more intriguing than annoying. The female staff, however, had developed endless theories about why the perfectly dressed, long-haired woman was so reserved. One kitchen helper claimed she was a terrible lover and that men only sought her company for her money. Another cashier had heard rumors that everyone at her workplace hated her because she was incompetent and knew nothing. True, it was never revealed where she actually worked. The cleaner knew someone whose relative went to the same hairdresser as Melinda and mentioned that Miss Snooty was the salon’s most dreadful client. Although she didn’t know exactly where that flawlessly styled hair was done.
The cook was bothered by the many rude comments Melinda received for no real reason. After all, she wasn’t rude or impolite. She was never impatient or frowned when the card reader didn’t work. His colleagues felt Melinda didn’t bother engaging with them because she was arrogant or because money had gone to her head. Or maybe because it had been so long since she’d had a good time that she’d lost her mind.
The cook admired her subtle, powdery scent. Her hair was always precisely the same length all around. She had impeccable taste in choosing her outfits and accessories. He would have loved to talk to her, but he didn’t dare. He knew all too well what his colleagues would say. He didn’t want to risk the sneering and crude remarks. It’s impossible to work in a toxic environment.
The cold wasn’t good for her burger either. It was completely cold by the time Melinda returned to her workplace. Before retreating into her office, she wished her subordinates a good meal as they lunched in the kitchen. She closed her door and turned the key in the lock. She pulled two large, thick kitchen towels from her drawer. She tucked one around her sweater’s collar and draped the other over her lap. She almost always ended up spilling something on herself when she ate her favorite chicken liver burger by hand. But to her, eating it with a knife and fork just wasn’t the same. She always envied the other customers at the corner burger place, who ate together at tables. None of them got their clothes dirty, even while talking and laughing. But Melinda was too anxious.She simply couldn’t eat in company. In a restaurant with proper cloth napkins on the table, she could relax a bit more. Even then, she spent the whole time nervous that any spill would land not on her blouse, but on the cloth draped across her lap.