the shop 0

count duke came into our shop one day: small man, big beard, and an absolute maniac.
He was replacing maher, our resident dishwasher, because maher was complaining for three months straight that the work was tough on a friday day.
Lo and behold: a sucker. count duke came in, ready to desert, absolutely thrilled to wash some dishes.
"Work must be good at a friday's day, eh? not a lot of comers coming for Hummus on a hot day"
"Yeah" we told him "but friday can be a bit heavy, you know? those wackos will eat anything just to get out"
"no way, man! I tell ya, it's got to be a smooth day. Listen, I normally don't wash dishes, see, but I got launched on some hard times, "
"oh yeah?"
"Yeah, I am actually a event manager, you Know? Do big nature parties."
"Must be tough with the corona closing you out"
"Yeah, but, yeah, Guess I gotta pick myself up, ha?"
and he gave his signature laugh, from belly up to the sky, each chortle sending his beard bouncing on his chest.

well. We kept on serving our hummus.

Naty came in, half asleep. His eyes were balooned, his nostrils white. Oh christ. Dor's hands were shaking visibly, and he was going slower than ever on those falafels. I was a disaster - was up all night raving mad on the net, and now to serve twenty plates a minute? my tension was rocketing, going up from my belly to my shoulders. My hands were fast, atleast, but my brain was not on planet earth. It was spinning, revolting, recreating each moment as a nightmare's haze. One of the waitresses smiled my way and I had to suffer through three minutes and twenty seconds of the damn thing throwing up danger signs.

ach. I spat on a plate - but not really. Spotify, at least, was going narrow and straight. Picked up the local favs, the local never-offenders. His spiciest choice was Omer Adam, and even there he went for the crowd favourites. Great guy, spotify. I wish I had five workers like him, instead of this mad house.

Nadir came in. Nadir was a big hulk of a fellow, serious as a russian and quiet as a mizrahi. Bred in the wild wastes of the country's south, fed a confusing mess of religion and independence, he was a curious guy. Soon to get the usual slap - the army was still waiting for him, about three months wait - but now he was still hesitant. Soon he would know how to choose, and he'd probably be a damn fright, Not to me, thankfully. He's gonna pick up some poor dam and give her a happy life and five children faster than you can say 'mesorti'. He picked up all three hummus bags at once and teleported them to their correct place. teleported I say, cause that guy worked faster than I could think, and I think pretty fast.

anyway, back to the work. Plate with mushrooms, eggplant, two side additions and a'mba, but only on the side, and no oil - but extra sauce. Maher leans over my shoulder, whispers 'Bon of the lawyer, eh?', and gives me a quick rib.
oh you, go off.

I hate the customers. Hate them, serious hate. they're nice fellows, bright, quite competent, but really? Why do you think you know how to choose food? why? Just eat a damn simple plate, hummus in a can. Dump it in, put some olive oil, chickpeas, spices, and serve - what's the hurry to dump three different addition on your plate? It doesn't work like that. If you want variety, that's fine, but you are demolishing the taste profiles. Eggplant, once put in the fryer and prepared, bleeds oil, and mushrooms have a distinct taste due to the onions we serve with them. The resturant serves big portions, big whoopers, mushrooms cover half the plate already.

You taste nothing of the variety ingrained in the dish like that, seriously. it's terrible - you should have ordered it all on the side, but don't do that, because then I will kill you.

or Maher will, at least. Count duke doesn't know, but when he'll get five side plates per customer he will definitely start to understand, if not comprehend. For now it seems he's doing fine - restaurant traffic hasn't really reached it's peak yet. It seems naty is managing him. I hear whispers of some argument -

" I gotta change the music man!"
" What's so bad?"
" I'm not some ruffian duffian out there I gotta listen to music man not this music! Don't know how you guys work like that, Count duke gotta hear the good stuff, you know? Not that im complaining, mind you, just trying to change the music, it will just be ok, see?"
" Duke, i already turned off the speaker in the kitchen, and we can't put on the weird shit - we got customers "

muh man naty.

" Look, just give me a change here, alright? "

what a slob.
He already has two empty beer glasses next to him. The waitresses are coming over, wanting to 'drop a shot'. I smile and expertly drop my own shot to the garbage when they're not looking. Everyone else drinks. Dor has calmed down by now.

"What you say?"
"eh."

talked about the pool a bit. Dor listens to breakbeat, so you can guess what kind of guy is he. An Israeli by birth, but really an indian. He got a bit too deep into their culture on the ritualistic trip and got stuck, I think. calm, downturn, easily appeased, but keeps a sandal close by for any would-be women. His curls go down to his middle back, and he lips purse out with merriment.

Funny fella - Always makes me laugh. I'll miss him. Miss them all - it's my last shift, after all.

Even the waitresses - though it's been hard and rough on me to spend my time in their storm, I wish I could withstand the wind for a bit longer. It's callous, and rough, and my ego does a downturn flop whenever they approach, but I feel him calming down with every botched emote we share, every tense word that escapes me. hope they do fine, old girls, hope they reach far.

but they won't - the mud is far too thick. Soon I will be free to fly above it,but they'll stay. I don't understand how they walk: the weight of should is so immense. I should do this, I should do that, I should talk, I should cry, rap, crap, trap,... duck.

should, eh? I should leave. Leave them behind, to smolder in my recollections. In five years I will remember a slight scene, the best one, a twist of the arm and a smile upturned with that quirk of a lip, and I'll sigh in remorseful satisfaction. We can do away with everything else - calling them, dropping by for a meal, any form of touch, really. I'm toxic. Let them stay back.

The shop deteriorates when I'm in it. The rats used to come once a month, back when I first came. Now we had to install a special gate and traps, and we ferry out their excruciated screams every morning. They are innocent - floating on the shallow web of life. Let them stay there, bob along.

It's not like I'll lack for money - I'm a web expert. I can sign up with any bunch of odd jobs, all of them paying much, much more than this joke of a pay we get at the shop. I'll be fine. Just have to watch out from passing that line of power - the line where the mossad starts to notice. Not that I'm illegal, mind you. Im firmly on the side of the tourist, gazing about. But I walk where I shouldn't, know what I can't, and look at what should be hidden. It's amazing what kind of things are online, just sitting there.

And what kind of people - and how much they tell. They don't think they do, they're quite careful - change their names, change their hosts, but they're awful at it, just awful. Everyone has a kernel of identity they can't let go of, and when that little kernel touches the keyboard, I'm there, taking notes. A random link, to a random picture - oh, interesting. Why did you look at that? You must have felt something there. And google gave you that image, even though it's a rather rare one? Either you put in some specific keywords, or you are in a different section of the search algorithm than I am. And then I narrow down, and down, and down. Till I am so close I can taste the skin dandruff on their keys.

And back. Because i'm not here to cause harm, please. It's just so obvious.

Maybe i'll develop mobile apps? That's pretty much in the shallows. I know this place that develops thirty different apps at once, and none of them touch the net! they're all self contained. Amazing, right?