Scrape, spray, stack. Scrape, spray, stack. The job would have seemed like a monotonous task to anyone else, but Gary Sharp loved it. He thought of himself as a new age composer, at times, setting a new rhythm with his odd sounding instruments. Plates, utensils and spraying water were his tools; and he would be rich as that Yammy guy, if he could just have some scout come in and discover his beat.
But there were other sounds to contend with in the kitchen. The buzz and slosh of the dishwasher, itself. The sizzle and pop of the deep fryer, clanging of spatulas and tinking of forks and tongs on metal mixing bowls. Still, when a good song came on the radio, the entire hodge-podge of cooks, prep chefs, and Gary would get a rhythm to its hypnotic beat that kept the work going smooth and easy. How he wished to be a composer himself.
Scrape, spray, stack... scrape spray stack. "Hello Laura, are you working the lounge tonight, or the patio?" Gary' voice comes from low within his throat, working to sound deeper that it actually is, for the girl he wishes to impress.
"What do you care, Soggy-pants?" she tells him, while moving to the head cook's side to get the nightly specials and let her rear be pinched. It was a game they all played to Gary... she pretending she didn't like him, he in love with her, and Ross, the cook, thinking he's going to score with a beauty who's the girl of another guy.
Scrape, spray, stack; scrape, spray, stack. Gary, finished with the tub sprays it out and takes it back out front. He watches the same scene, as he has each night since he started here; the barflies trying to pick up on any woman that walks their way. Nearly falling off the stools to get closer to one they find attractive. Off in the dining area, families and couples enjoying the fare that they will only eat half of, leaving the rest for the waitresses to toss into the tubs like he now carries.
Still, he wouldn't change this job for any other. This is the easy road, it's the way to happiness and dreams. He feels complete and happy.
Getting up from a nearby table, Gary Sharp passes the young man exchanging an empty tub for a full one. He stops, turns, and stuffs a fifty dollar bill into the boy's shirt pocket. "Keep dreaming, kid." He says, as he walks out of the lounge and gets into the silver jaguar parked out front.
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