Selling My Soul for My Kids

Rock Bottom

Birdie Burgers was the same as it always is on third shift. It was mostly dead until around 1 am, when people started leaving the clubs. Around 2 am, things picked up dramatically. All the drunkards and weed heads came in for an overpriced, frozen, and highly processed burger. There was usually at least one fight in the parking lot and occasionally the fight would be in the lobby. I never got involved. I had kids to go home to.

It's safe to say that I absolutely hated my job as a short-order cook. The duties were easy enough, but the customers were some of the worst in the city. I would usually keep my head down and just focus on getting through the shift. I’d ignore the insults about my cooking and my stupid-looking uniform. I’d ignore the occasional shitbag guy making comments about my ass in said uniform. Tonight, I couldn’t ignore it. I was already too emotional before I got to work and, unfortunately, that night, I didn’t leave my baggage at the door.

Two sleazy looking young girls came in. They were drunk off their asses, stumbling in heels. They may have walked in just fine earlier in the night, but were now serious health hazards because of their unstable gaits. They plopped themselves down at the bar without waiting for a server to seat them and started yelling at me that they wanted salads.

“Hey, hey!” shouted the bimbo in the yellow and black polka dot dress. “Hey, can you…fix me a salad? I want ranch dressing."

“Me too. I want a salad, too,” said the one in the white fishnet dress.

I took a deep breath before I turned to face them. “Sorry ladies. It’s a late night diner, and we only serve grilled items like sandwiches or steaks."

The one in the white dress said, with a distraught look on her drunk face, ”damn, you don’t have no salads?”

“What the f**k,” said the other one.

“Sorry,” I said. I turned back around to the grill.

“Well, damn, you ain’t gonna take our order, b***h?” said one of them. I wasn’t sure, since my back was turned again.

I felt anger rising in me, something that didn’t usually happen at work. I took a deep breath once again and turned to the ladies.

“I’m the cook, ladies. I don’t take orders. A server will be right with you.” I turned around again.

“I mean, s**t, the b***h is standing right there,” one of them said to the other. Once again, I turned to face them. At this point, someone’s burger was being cooked extra well.

“Don’t call me a b***h. If you don’t want to wait, McDonald’s is right down the street. You can go through the drive-thru.”

Both sets of eyes got wide. The one in the yellow and black polka dot dress said, “b***h, who the f**k you think you talking to?”

The other one said, “f**k you!” At this point, the shift manager, Darlene was looking my way. She was trying to finish taking an order so she could come over and defuse the situation. It didn’t matter. My match was lit.

“I told you not to call me that, skank! Get the f**k outta here. You’re not getting service tonight. I felt my hand tightening on the spatula.

The woman in the white dress grabbed a salt shaker and lunged it at me. “b***h, you don’t talk to my best friend like that!” The salt shaker missed me and landed on the grill where it promptly exploded into a dozen or more pieces. Shards of glass went flying into the food. One of them caught me on the neck. I felt a trickle of warm blood begin to ooze down my neck. Then, I saw red.

Suddenly, it seemed like there were only the two women and me in the restaurant. The noise from the customers shouting about the impeding fight seemed far away. In the corner of my eye, I could see Darlene dashing over to me. Her lips were moving in slow motion, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying.

Before I knew it, the spatula made contact with the nose of the woman in the white dress. I saw both women move their mouths as if they were screaming, but I couldn’t hear it. The next thing I saw was the spatula making contact with the cheek of the woman in the yellow and black dress. It shocked her so much that she fell off the barstool.

The woman in the white dress had stood up and was holding her bloody nose. Tears were dropping out of her eyes as she was saying something. Darlene finally got to me and grabbed me from the back by my shoulders. She whirled me around, away from the ladies, and pushed me to the side. Suddenly, everything seemed to go back to normal speed and I could hear all the noise clearly.

Darlene shouted at the ladies, “I’m calling the cops on you, right now!”

The woman in white shouted, “that b***h—” she winced in pain, “broke my nose!”

“You attacked her first,” said Darlene, and we got it all on camera. Darlene pointed at the camera that was aimed at the bar.

The woman in the yellow and black polka dot dressed had finally managed to pick herself up off the floor. “I’m gonna kill you, b***h!” she shouted. I thought she was going to try to come behind the counter, but instead she started limping towards the door. I realized that in her tumble she had broken the heel of her shoe.

“Get out of here!” Shouted Darlene at the ladies. “Unless you want to go to jail tonight!”

Both ladies stumbled towards the door. The woman in the white dress had left a streak of blood on the counter and another one as she pushed the door open. Both women were yelling expletives at me as they left.

Darlene looked at me and shook her head. I knew I had messed up big time. I also knew that, as of that moment, I was unemployed.

“May I have your attention, please!” shouted Darlene at the customers. “I have to call the police to report this incident, so if you don’t want to be around the police, I suggest you leave now!”

Most of the customers didn’t need to be told twice. They got up and quickly started heading out of the door. Since Birdie Burger served everything in to-go containers, it was easy for everyone to take their food with them. I realized that many of the customers had recorded the incident and were actively posting it to social media. I was completely embarrassed.

“Darlene, Darlene, wait,” I said. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. I just snapped.”

“I get it,” she said. “It happens to the best of us, but because things got physical, I’m required to report it.” My kids I thought to myself. What am I going to do.

“Darlene, please,” I pleaded. “I can’t lose this job right now.”

Darlene picked up the phone. “Honey, if I don’t report this, I’ll lose my job and I have mouths to feed. I’m sorry, but my hands are tied. Go on and pack up your stuff. You’ll have to give a statement to the police and after that, you’re off the clock.”

This can’t be happening, I thought. Not now. This can’t be happening right now. Tears dropped from my eyes as I walked to the back room to get my things. What am I going to do? What am I going to do?



I was about to be homeless with three toddlers and I didn’t have one person in the world to turn to. Ever since Chris’s death, I had held on by a thin string, but that night, I finally hit rock bottom.