Page 44 of Pucking Matt
I stare at the screen, wondering where all these buttons are. I find the ham and provolone sandwich easily, so I click on it. Amber is already reaching over to help.
“You got it,” she says, pulling back. “And then no mustard, so click on that.”
I click on the minus button.
“Would you like to add a drink?” I ask the customer.
She says, “A bottle of water.”
Amber leans in and points at the water button. Her brown hair is in a messy bun, and the loose ends tickle my collarbone. I smell her shampoo as I click on the water bottle button. And then she points at the total.
I look to the customer and say, “That’ll be $14.99.”
The customer taps her card and Amber gets to making the order. I walk over to the sandwich-making area while she toasts the bun.
“So, you can make the sandwich really however you’d like, but honestly, slathering the ingredients on there makes it taste better. So, grab the mayonnaise.”
I do as I’m told.
“Here, I’ll do one bun.”
She shows me how she glides it onto the bun. I take the utensil from her and do the same exact thing on the other bun.
“Perfect,” she says. “Okay, now I saw you making the other sandwich earlier, and you’re doing good, but I’m going to watch you make this one. Be generous but not too much.”
She steps to the side, watching me grab the ham, fold the pieces, and place them on the bottom bun. I grab the tomatoes, line them up, and leave no spaces between them. Then I grab the lettuce. Amber is keeping her eyes on the sandwich the entire time, never once does she look at anything else. I notice because I’m trying to figure out where the rowdy Amber went.
“You did good,” she says, not offering any other advice.
I roll the sandwich in the paper and then grab a bottle of water. I hand the customer her food. She thanks me and takes off.
There are no more customers, so I lean against the counter. “So, I saw the newest edition to my truck. I was wondering why a bunch of freshmen were honking their horns at me.”
Her eyes smile and her lips purse, but she doesn’t give me a full smile.
“Yeah, I think I’m going to keep it on there. It’s a good way to weed out the red flags.”
“I knew it would help you find your type.”
I bite my tongue, looking down. “Are you having a bad day?”
“What?” she questions, busying herself with cleaning the crumbs from the toaster.
“You must be having a bad day if you’re being nice to me.”
“You must be having a horrible day too because you’re being nice back.”
“Touché, Amber.”
Her eyes quickly glance at me. I look down at her and then help with the clean up.
“Maybe this won’t be so bad,” I offer.
“Maybe it won’t.”
I stop talking as I try to understand why she’s repeating everything I’m saying. Something fishy is going on, and now I’m starting to get the feeling she’s forcing herself to be nice to me. And that’s fine.
The rest of our shift runs smoothly. She’s patient with me, showing me the ropes, being kind, and being thorough. By the time I leave, I think I might have to cancel all the fun pranks I have in store for her.
