She wiped the sweat from her brow with the collar of her own shirt.  The heat lamps singed the ends of the hair barely left growing on her arms, but she was used to the discomfort.  The timers were buzzing next to her, but she had grown so accustomed to their sound that she barely heard them.  It was a day just like any other; with salty hands and a ketchup stained shirt.

     Finally removing her forearms from the heat came as a sweet relief, to be met with the bitter triumph of lifting the bin only to have the oil splatter up her decollete.  The sensation was as common for her as the shame she felt walking through life with little burn marks all over her body.  

     Coming to this country wasn’t as much of a choice as it was a necessity. It would be so much easier if she could just understand what these pimply teenagers were talking about half of the time.  Unfortunately there wasn’t much time for her to study the language when she had to make ends meet in a new place with limited options for employment.  She cleaned houses during the day and came here in the evenings.  She was one of the lucky ones that got out, but she still had family that she wanted here with her. Like hell was she going to let a day go by without doing everything she could to give them the life that they deserved.

     The fryer was buzzing again, and that pock-scarred boy was barking some nonsense in her direction.  She would never admit it, but she did understand some of his snarky comments.  It was just so satisfying to watch him turn red when she simply replied “Si, Senor.”  Why say anything else?  She was entitled to her own private joke at his expense.  He had plenty of his own at hers.

     Once the sun went down and the customers started to dwindle, it was time to tend to the messes they left behind in the dining room.  The privileged children working for extra money to buy overpriced clothing didn’t have to do any of the manual labor.  They made sure they got the food out the window in the right bag and put straws in the cup before another car pulled up.  They got a pat on the back and went home with a smile while she laid on her back scratching gum from the bottom of a table.  They went outside and smoked their overpriced cigarettes while she mopped the bathroom floor and removed waste from the garbage cans.  They mocked her accent and feigned friendly exchanges with her as they toasted hamburger buns and she washed dishes.

     Every now and then she caught herself thinking about how pretty the girls’ nails were.

     “Juana!  You can’t just stand there while the fryers are going off!  If we lose one more batch of fries I’m going to make sure that corporate takes the cost out of your check!”     

     Of all the times that she had felt slighted, and out of every time she was passed over and given the grunt work, she never complained.  She always nodded and did her work, but that day was different.  The giggling girls had no burns, and the pimply boy that was yelling at her hadn’t touched a fryer in months.  The only other person there that could speak her language worked in the middle of the night mopping floors and sterilizing counter tops.  She looked over one more time at those beautiful fingernails…

     “No more.  I’m done,” she said in clear, perfect english.

     She left the french fries to burn and walked right out of the store.  She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she knew that she deserved something better than this.

     She was going to find it.


10 thoughts on “Juana

Add yours

  1. Great story. Made me think about my days working fast food and how I always got to work the drive-thru window. I like that when she quit she let the fries keep frying and spoke clear English.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Juana’s admiration of her coworkers fingernails was a great detail to give us an idea that she did covet her spoiled coworkers’ lives a little. You did a great job bringing out her backstory by showing and you worked in the prompt gracefully. The story has a few run-on sentences (the opening line, for example). And there are a few misplaced modifiers also (The day has salty hands and a ketchup stained shirt).

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I liked how you showed Juana’s backstory and the private joke she has with herself. The depiction of the sensation of shame and its similarity to the oil splashing was well done as were the details about the girls and the pimply boy. I especially loved the ending and the matter-of-fact manner in which she quits.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Way to go, Juana! I felt her isolation and humiliation as if I were experiencing it first hand. You’ve done a good job of getting into the head of this woman, a person we could all pass on the street fifty times without ever being able to perceive the kind of struggle she goes through on a daily basis. Bravo!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Good job using a Latinx/Hispanic name but fair hair early on to *begin* with a challenge to the reader’s internal prejudices before dealing with the perceptions and prejudices of the characters. Like Nate, I would have liked to see the story go through a few more rounds of edits to clean up some of the grammatical issues as well as some narrative redundancies in the middle.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: